The Mute
by SaphireDragoon
Summary: A tale of silence, justice, and love. It was the difference between faith and knowledge. SebxF!Hawke and slight AndersxF!Hawke. Rated M for allusions to graphic scenes.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I always played around with the idea that Hawke is disabled in some way, and my favorite is that s/he is mute. It's hard to communicate with someone who can't speak, even if they can fully understand you. To make the situation worse, I played with the idea that s/he was incapable of learning certain things, in this case to read and write. I can't say that I think this story is good or bad, but I'm just putting it out there. This is probably the first story that I've written as it comes into my head, but it is also the first one that I got through most of before trashing. I feel weird having the main character a woman that several people adore, but that kind of comes up in the game, so I don't care as much now, I suppose. In this version, events are added/rearranged, but pretty much everything is there. Hawke is a mage and Carver is actually more her best friend, a brother who was best able to communicate with her.

So, I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I obviously do not own anything affiliated with Dragon Age series.

Warning: Alludes to graphic scenes, but not really graphic in nature.

Main Pairing: Really supposed to be SebxF!Hawke, a little AndersxF!Hawke too.

Chapter 1

"It's your entire fault!" Carver yelled into the blank face of his older sister. Lucy was silent, as always, as he stormed around the small room they once shared with their mother and uncle in Lowtown. Occasionally he would stop in front of her still body to curse her name and tell her that she was a heartless whore that deserved to die instead of their family. When he was empty of his threats and damnations, he looked her in the eye, saw what he always saw and his resolve was broken once more. Her expression did not give away her pain and her urge to ask for forgiveness, but he knew it was there. He placed his hands on her shoulders and searched once more in the hopes that he was wrong. It was always there, whether she knew it or not, and it tore at him. That unspoken sentence hung around her like a ghost along with every word she was never allowed to say. Admitting defeat, he pulled her into his chest and felt terrible as the tears freely fell down his face and splattered against her sandy colored hair.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean it. It's… It was never your fault, sister. Please forgive me. I … I will always forgive you. I understand. They all understand. Just…" he stopped, feeling her wrap her arms around him and tugging tightly. It was always her way of saying that she still loved him and that he was free of guilt. He melted into this familiar embrace and wished deep in his heart that he could hear what she wanted to say.

When Gamlen and their mother had died, Carver had been devastated while Lucy stood motionless by their bloodied bodies. No curse or blow could release him of the anger he felt when he looked at her, just standing there like it wasn't her family lying on the ground. Even though he watched as she killed their murderers, he could not forgive her at that moment. She had incurred the wrath of Meeran, allowing his money to go to someone else, and he decided it was most fitting to have their lives dashed in the middle of the night. His sister had known there was something wrong when they returned from the Deep Roads to an empty house. When they found them, it was too late, but death still found those men at the end of his sword and her staff. Now, they were alone, in this tiny hovel, with all the money they could have dreamed of, only to share it between them. It wasn't fair.

Everyone was sitting at the table in Varric's suite, downing ale or milk (in the case of Anders and Merrill) and playing a nice game of strip Wicked Grace. Of course the two sly rogues were winning, basically at each other's cheating throats, while the others admitted defeat in between bouts of underhanded jokes. The door, which had been shut to offer at least some privacy to the meek in the room, had opened without a knock or invitation to enter. Everything became silent when the slight form of a Hawke stood in the doorway, pausing briefly to be acknowledged, and sat down on the edge of Varric's bed, looking at no one in particular. Under the watchful eyes of the players, though they continued to play their game, she removed the heavy staff from her back and propped it against the wall. She picked up the book lying on the bedside table and though Varric did not commonly allow others to look at his unfinished work, the older Hawke was an exception. He knew that she just liked to stare at the pages, pretending to read as she usually did until something happened that she could participate in, like a child without many friends.

The game went on as normal, and when it finally finished, with Varric as the winner, the group disentangled their clothes, dressed with laughs and drunken threats, and moved on with mixed glances at the lonely girl who had chosen to alienate herself rather than disturb their game. When all were gone, Varric closed the door behind them, removed his signature coat, and walked up to Lucy, still pouring over his book even though the pages in front of her were blank. He attempted to formulate a good joke in his head, but the gears came to a grinding halt as he noticed the crumpled note in her left hand. He cleared his throat, grabbing her attention long enough for her to remember why she was here, and the small piece of parchment traded hands once more. A glimpse of sadness passed behind blue eyes before she returned her gaze to the apparently interesting blank pages. Sitting down in his velvet chair, Varric unfolded the small square to reveal a larger one, written in a familiar hand that had been twisted slightly and splotched at the bottom with water.

"Whomever my sister places her trust in,

Though my sister is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, she cannot possibly work her way out of what is to come. I ask that, if it within anyone's power, to please shield her from any further harm and to make sure that she still has a chance at finding happiness in this world.

Through a series of events that have been hidden from you that follow my dear sister, the only ones left from the Amell family is Lucy and I. As a result, our neighbors have finally found it appropriate to sell my sister to the Templars. They were aware of her previous tactic in removing attention from our family in Lothering and took advantage of this carefully hidden fact. I am unsure if she is unaffected and am even more unsure if those monsters will be satisfied with only what they have done to her.

Without a home or family, Lucy has convinced me to return to what is left of Lothering or at least to Ferelden where I may find old friends. It is better this way; it will deter further harassment like last night and will make it easier for her to hide amongst her friends.

Please, as her last hope to have a life, keep her safe and happy.

-Carver Hawke"

"Lil' Hawke…" Varric murmured as he finished reading the note once more, only just realizing the stains were tears and the normally neat handwriting was scrawled in torture. He looked up at what he figured was a broken woman who had just lost everything she called family and home as she looked upon pages yet to be written on. Refolding the paper, he placed it in the bedside drawer and sat next to her. One short arm reached out behind her to hug her close while the other gently closed the book that offered no entertainment to one who could not read. Or maybe she had been reading what was to be written in the future, on those unmarred pages? He left it to mull over later.

"Hawke—I mean, Lucy… Do you understand what's in that note?" She nodded twice, a sign that Varric knew meant she was very sure. She did not look up, which he also knew meant that she was thinking very hard. "So you know that you cannot go back to that house?" Two nods were given once more. "That you won't see any of your family ever again?" She gave two slow nods and swallowed unconsciously. "You can stay here, with me, unless you would rather be somewhere else…" She shook her head and looked at the floor. Her hands began to tear at the feathers decorating her robes. Varric noted that there was a fist-sized chunk missing from either side of her shoulders.

"I'll pick you up a new bed tomorrow, today you can sleep here. I'll just—"He was cut off as she turned quickly to him, throwing out her arms to wrap around him and forcing him into the soft mattress. His breath was knocked from him for a short period of time as he tried to figure out what kind of situation it was. The situation, however, became obvious as two breasts were pushed against his stomach and a stream of warm water washed down between his chest hairs. This was the first time he had ever seen her cry.

"So they're gone," Aveline said rather bluntly. Varric stared at her in a way that said "of course, didn't I just say that?" She sighed and sat back in her chair. In front of her was the note left in the dwarf's care, along with a copy of a templar's report of an apostate that had avoided apprehension not long ago. The report offered no description though the storyteller and pirate wench had informed Aveline that it most definitely revealed that the Templars in question had been 'persuaded' to let the apostate and her family go. With cringes, they were also able to identify in a more detailed report of how she was allowed to escape the Gallows or death. "Those damn Templars. How could they even imagine doing such a thing? It is a disgrace to a once proud order. I am not one to assume the worst of such noble people, but I have to admit that the evidence is rather convincing, even without your 'deciphering'."

"I could tell it was true by as much as I could recover…" the healer interjected, his tone solemn with a tinge of restrained anger. At first he was outraged at such an event, but when he had heard that the once immovable Hawke had broken down into tears, he had been moved to a reserved stance as just a friend. He was conflicted when that poor girl was led into his clinic once everyone had been removed. Justice wanted to use her to prove his cause. Anders wanted to help her as she squirmed uncomfortably under his unfortunately cold fingers as he prodded places he now knew were just another source of her silence. Only Justice held him back enough to keep him from removing all of the evidence in an attempt to free of her of this permanent scar. "I could tell it was recent, though it only covered what was from a long time ago."

"Though I do not agree with mages, no one should have such a fate. I've seen it amongst the slaves several times and in this case it is even more unfortunate that instead of being scarred into silence, she could not speak out in the first place." The elf stood in the corner, propped against the wall. It was always certain that he disapproved of the fact that Lucy was a mage, but there was a mixture of respect and concern whenever he had spoken to her through Carver. He had found solace in knowing that she could not read and write like he too was cursed, though it came as a shock to him when she admitted it. Now he remained fairly silent as he was conflicted between the oppression of mages and the destruction of an innocent soul.

"This is terrible. I've heard about it from the city elves, but it did not seem so… real until now," Merrill said softly from her seat in the far side of the room. Isabela remained silent and her expression betrayed her concern and anger. Sebastian was absent, having been left with the duty of watching Hawke in the Hanged Man. He had volunteered to be her personal guard when someone else could not be present, saying that his ever growing conflictions could only be resolved by the Maker, not a meeting and accusations, and being there for a similarly torn person. No one complained, deciding it was for the best that the pro-templar rogue not to be a part of a round of death threats. He had been sweet enough, in his own way. The prince had even removed his belt buckle of Andraste's face on it to allow Lucy to run her fingers over as he whispered prayers and encouragements. He even offered to be the one to get back in touch with her brother if she so wanted. The man's shoulder had been the second one that the shattered mage had wept on.

"I will try with whatever power I have to get through to the Knight-Commander. I know it sounds like I am talking as the Captain of the Guard, but I believe this is a situation that should be resolved with words before we can turn to violence, especially since we do not exactly have a voice in the matter." A few protests were quietly murmured amongst them before they decided it was for the best. They all, except for Aveline, returned to the Hanged Man for much needed drinks and maybe a normal game of Wicked Grace.

It was the quickest moments of Carver's life as two Templars in heavy armor burst through the door, one shoving the poor mage to the ground while the other shut the door behind him and wrestled the protective brother against the wall. Through his rage he only caught glimpses of torn clothes and thrashing limbs. All he heard was what he already knew as he watched the face of his once proud sister go from horror, to a blank stare, to look that he frequently saw on the faces of whores in Lowtown's back alleys. He screamed that she be let go as the burly man thrusted hard into his sister, sounds that would have been of ecstasy if her voice had not been rendered silent at birth were forced from her throat. Her brilliant eyes dimmed and rolled back under half-lidded eyes as the laughing man commented on how trained she was for an apostate. Carver found enough strength to wrestle the man off of him when the bastard plowing his sister said that she must even give out to her brother. In his renewed rage, the little Hawke punched his sister's assailant in the jaw, sending him flying across the floor and leaving Lucy bare and exposed in the dirt. Carver turned to knock out the remaining man when he himself was shoved to the ground by a blow that sent his head reeling.

The young man was barely aware of his surroundings as he heard muffled laughs, jokes, and threats. He could feel his clothes being removed gently but greedily by hands he could remember. His voice was lost as he felt a sensation he had only felt once envelope him and he curled his hands into hair that felt similarly familiar. When the feeling had been slowly removed, he groaned in need before quickly being plunged into a river of exploding senses. It was warmer and more inviting than the previous treatment and it made every muscle in his body tense as it quickly moved him up and down like a wave at sea. But he was soon sent back to his clear sense when he released all of that pent up energy with a moan so loud he was sure the Maker had heard. He remembered this feeling and looked up through unclouded eyes to who he didn't expect to be his older sister. She stared back with glazed eyes and a hungry expression. Quickly he looked around for the damned Templars who had barged into their home, but none could be found. It was just him and his sister who had been pleasuring him in a desperate act of need.

"Sis…" The words he wished to say, like 'It's okay,' or 'Don't worry, I'll kill them!' were lost as he felt her grip tighten. What should have been disgust or anger was replaced with pity as he watched her struggle back to herself. While she still could not move in shock, he gently plucked her from his hips, carried her to the bed in the other room, and watched as pleasure turned to horror, to sadness, then complacency. The young brother gathered up the clothes from the floor, throwing her torn and stained ones into the fire after removing the important decorations. He stared blankly into the mirror before deciding that cleaning himself and his broken sister was the most important thing at the moment. With a spare rag, he removed any visible evidence from himself and her body and tossed it too into the fireplace. When he returned to the bedside to say encouraging things and get her ready to sleep the nightmare away, she merely offered a small smile. He couldn't believe he was crying as he slipped her under the covers and began writing his letter.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sebastian had accepted the dwarf's suggestion that he take Hawke to the Chantry in search of peace and quiet. He however was forced to promise that no sermons were to be said to the broken girl unless she accepted the offers. In the room he was allowed to stay in thanks to Elthina, the prince found himself motionless on his bed as his friend silently cried into his chest for a third time that day. He had felt uncomfortable removing his armor in front of a woman after his vows of chastity, though it was a silly feeling seeing as it was done out of consideration and he had clothes underneath. Even with all of the strange positions he had to adopt to allow her to relax in his small quarters, the most difficult thing happened when Isabela dropped off a set of less mage-like clothes for Lucy to change into to avoid too much attention. The strong leader had a habit of becoming like a doll after crying and so he was faced with the dilemma of removing and replacing her garments.

With a new found conviction and after a quick prayer to the Maker and Andraste, he set to work carefully peeling off the complicated robes that the mages preferred. He had to bite his lower lip to stifle a gasp when the lack of clothing revealed bruises in the shape of handprints and the lack of underclothes allowed him to unwillingly catch sight of what looked like bite marks on her breasts. Unconsciously, he reached out to gingerly brush over the blackened marks and traced the reddened skin that stood out against the paleness of her chest. For once he wished he was blessed, or maybe cursed, with the power of healing as he leaned down to gently kiss the painful welts on her otherwise flawless body. He did not find himself needing to pray once more for the strength to remain strong in his vows as his faith reaffirmed him that what he did now was not out of lust, but out of a need to protect what the Maker had turned his eye to.

He continued to undress her after placing the new garments on her upper half with some difficulty. When he was not having trouble getting her to move her arms the right way, he was mesmerized by her unfortunate wounds that could no longer be hidden from his innocent mind. When the skirt was dropped on the floor, he could not look away from what almost looked like the gore found at war grounds, bleached slightly by sun and quick rain. The insides of her thighs were blemished by finger-sized marks and cuts. As soon as he had finished dressing her, he noticed that she had turned to him with a smile on her face.

In the dank home that once belonged to his master, Fenris watched the female mage as she almost mindlessly cleaned some random corner of his room. He could understand that she was trying to do so as quietly as possible, but the rustling had been burned into his ears. Never could he properly communicate with the woman without the aid of her brother or the annoying dwarf, but it had never been as necessary as it was now. Finally, after another bottle of Danarius' expensive wine, the warrior finally turned loose on his ward.

"Can't you stay quiet? I have never heard so much noise in a home. For a dumb woman, you are quite the collection of disruptive clatter." He stomped over to her in his rage and grabbed her by the arm. The closest thing to a cry for mercy escaped her usually silent mouth before he shook her violently. Before he knew what he had done, he threw her nearly halfway across the room, her body slamming into one of the tables stacked with unused books. The impact caused them to tip over; covering her in words she could not read. The pile was motionless and silent, save for the sliding of books. He returned to his seat to open another bottle of wine. When a whole hour had passed without any movement from beside the far table, Fenris became worried underneath his anger. He looked over his shoulder, to see if she was still there. She had not moved, he was sure, and it worried him further. Slowly, he got up from his chair and carefully walked towards the heap on the floor. Her face was covered by a larger book that he did not recognize.

"Hawke?" he asked quietly as he removed some of the books. When her face was revealed, he was greeted with a face that had a new mark and a completely emotionless expression. In a fit of panic, he flung all of the books off of her body, held his hand to her chest to feel for her heart, and relaxed as the steady beat caressed his hand. As he picked her up and moved her to the bed, he noticed a dried trail of tears on her cheek. Out of pity, he wiped it away and whispered a sincere apology. She did not move for a while, making it hard for him to tell if she was alright, but her steady breathing reassured him that he had at least not killed another innocent person.

Anders was sure that hiding the other mage in his clinic was a terrible idea and when Varric and Aveline had agreed, he felt disappointed that he could not watch after the gentle woman. However, the time came when he could, the suite in the Hanged Man being left empty of its patron in favor of hearing what the Guard Captain had found out. Lifelessly, Lucy was sprawled on the bed that had been bought for her and was shoved next to the one that had already been there. Varric had told him that some nights she would never sleep and others he would wake up to her thrashing at nothing. Carefully he removed his boots and coat and went to lie down beside her. Whether it was Justice or Anders that spoke, he wasn't sure, but he was thankful that the iridescent blue was not reflected by her skin. "Why did you go to Varric, and not me? Or anyone, for that matter?"

Her face slowly turned to him while she thought. She held up one finger, indicating that she was going to answer his first question, and proceeded to make a circle with her two index fingers and thumbs, her sign for mages and the Circle, but then she stuck her two middle fingers together to form a line through it, meaning Justice. As she formulated her second answer, Anders relaxed, knowing that she was right to have excluded him while the Templars were involved. Five fingers were shoved in his face while he thought, remembering that the once rude gesture was her sign for how many companions she was talking about. She charaded some of the qualities of the other companions that she deemed too strong to turn for help to. When she was done calling Aveline angry, Fenris and Sebastian Templar-lovers, Isabela a joker, and Merrill naïve, the healer was certain that Varric was the most understanding of the group, though they had all taken their turns at watching over their leader, save for Isabela and Aveline.

He was startled out of his thoughts when he heard sobbing and looked up to see her face hidden behind her hands. Repeatedly he asked what was wrong and if she needed anything, but he was only answered with a sound that took him a while to realize was her struggling through years of silence to say his name. He pulled her into his arms and rocked her gently against his chest. Anders could feel her tremble and shudder while tears fell freely. Though he was certain he misheard, he swore he heard a small feminine voice whisper a thank you.

Aveline looked up every now and then to look at Hawke as she polished the shield that once belonged to Wesley. Lucy had found it once more, buying it off a grubby merchant near the docks. Only when her hand began to spit flame did the dwarf hand over the shield for half of what it was worth. Carver had explained later that his sister had felt terrible when she watched her friend hand over the last part of her husband in exchange for a few silver used to buy Leandra a replacement dress. The Guard Captain no longer used it, but hung it up on her wall as a reminder of the life she cherished. Now, after collecting dust for a year, it was reflecting rays of light as the small hands worked the polishing silk into all of the crevices. She had been doing it for a good hour and had ignored the rumblings signaling her need for food.

"Hawke, you have to eat eventually." The younger woman looked up, eyes wide in question. She sighed, placing the silvery aegis back on its mount and putting the cloth back where she had gotten it. Just before leaving the room, she looked back, and without waiting for her to ask in her complicated way, Aveline simply called for Donnic. The man had said Lucy reminded him of his sister, and so he was more than kind with her when she came to visit, though it was not often that she came alone. While he was leading her to the kitchen and telling a joke, Aveline sighed and muttered an apology.

When it was Isabela's turn that week, Varric had heard from one of his 'connections' that the mage had been patiently sitting at the Hanged Man for four hours waiting for the Rivaini woman. The dwarf became genuinely angry and stormed off to first check on Hawke and then to kill the pirate. However the chair and room was severely lacking one mute human. Varric rushed off to find Aveline and the others.

Hawke was missing for three days before anyone had caught sight of her. Sebastian nearly dismissed her presence as he saw her walk slowly by the Gallows. Quickly, he turned back around only to see her surrounded by a group of templar recruits. They laughed, pushed her around, and tugged at her robes. Initially they were surprised by her calm demeanor as they began to fondle her back side and whisper vulgar things to her. Silently they were allowed to explore her lean body in a dark corner where no one looked. In a similarly dark corner, the archer prince watched, glued to the ground as his leader's robes were ripped from her body and lustful mouths clawed at her exposed chest. Sebastian begged his legs to move, his hands to remove the bow from his back, for his arrows to find their mark, but no muscle was moved as he watched the girl being passed around like a common whore. She was left in the corner, shivering and crying, naked and exposed. He watched as the Templars walked away, looking pleased with themselves. Finally he was free to move, but his mind was sent to a screeching halt when he heard his name croaked from a torn throat. She was looking up at him, holding her clothes to her body to hide it from him, and looked positively terrified. All he could do was run away from her, towards the Knight-Captain, tell him what happened, and watched sadly as Cullen took his place in picking the mess off the wall and yelling at the fleeing recruits. He retreated to the Chantry, not wishing to see those terrified blue eyes any longer.

While everyone was crowding around the table in the Hanged Man, listing off places they had not seen Hawke, the Knight-Captain walked in with the subject of panic hiding behind him. He explained the incident with as much detail as he was allowed to give, stating that Meredith was not tolerating the knights responsible for both of the happenings that she admitted had convincing evidence. The knights in question were found guilty, he assured them, and any further judgment was going to be the work of the Viscount now that the men had been stripped of their knighthood. Gently he removed the woman from his side and sat her down in an empty chair. He said goodbye firmly when her hand refused to let go of his and he quickly left the seedy bar.

Hawke could feel the stares of all those at the table and even those of people around the room. Anders was the first to walk up, checking to see if she was still okay. When she nodded, he gave her a quick hug, saying that he was glad she could come back. Isabela was nowhere to be seen, Merrill had been hidden away in her home for most of the day, and Aveline was directing the guard to search for the vulnerable mage sitting next to them all. Varric took a long drag from his pipe as Fenris walked up to his liberator. Slowly he knelt down to her level and offered her a strangled smile that she returned weakly. He wanted to ask her something important, but he was cut off by the feel of her hand on his head, gently stroking his white hair. Looking up, he noticed her warm expression and watched as she unexpectedly said his name in a creaking voice. He stood up quickly, scaring the innocent mage, and looked from Anders to Varric, then back again.

"I heard her trying to say my name the day I took care of her… I think it may be magic, or maybe her muteness was a result of a sickness that is only now wearing out. I can't be sure of either," Anders offered, placing a hand on her shoulder to calm her down. Fenris seemed to accept the open-ended answer and whispered a small apology to Lucy. Varric shooed the men away and led the shaky girl to her bed.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Despite what I think of this fic, I'm continuing it. :D

T.I.M. – Thanks so much for your comment. I didn't actually think about (well, I guess in the forefront of my mind) about how it reflects society, but I see what you mean. My inspiration for this fanfiction was the fact that I know a lot of heroes/heroines are portrayed as strong willed people who have some pretty set ideologies. I wanted to see a hero who did things out of desperation, like Anders and other companions, and had a problem of her own. I still wanted them to be strong-willed, but in their own way. I haven't really determined what kind of ending it will have, and I hope it is a happy one, but some more challenging things must come first, I believe. There are some brutal scenes that, hopefully, will satisfy the need for some… justice.

For now I'm worried about how I portray the characters and Hawke's character traits. I don't want her to seem like everyone loves her, though in the game you can have it that way, practically.

Even if you don't comment, I hope you guys like it! And if you hate it, well… Nothing is perfect.

Chapter 3

The next day, Hawke insisted on visiting Sebastian in the Chantry. Varric followed her, though Hightown was hardly a place where she feared being. When she was safely at its doors, the dwarf informed her that he would go talk to Aveline and would be back to show her home.

Inside, the Grand Cleric ran into her, offering a small blessing and a smile. She gave her apologies for the hardships she faced in Kirkwall as she led her to Sebastian's room. Lucy knocked twice, heard nothing, and knocked again. Slowly the handle turned, the lock clicking, and the door swung back to reveal the exiled prince. Elthina walked away, leaving the mage to smile warmly up at him. He was almost moved to tears when those blue eyes looked at him happily. His body moved on its own, allowing her small form to slip between him and the door jam. The door was once again shut and locked, allowing at least some privacy. Before he could say anything, her arms wrapped around his torso and pulled herself closer to him. He heard his name being whispered once more and the girl rocking gently back and forth.

"I'm so sorry… I couldn't… I wanted to…" he tried to apologize, but the words could not formulate correctly in his mind. She only hugged harder, demanding a return. Carefully he wrapped his arms around her and pressed her smooth face into his chest. He could hear his name repeated like the Chant as she melted into his body. Every time she said it, it became cleaner, more fluid, and beautiful sounding. "Your voice… it's… beautiful."

She looked up, confused for a second, before she became shocked. Her hand reached for her throat and she felt the small vibrations as she repeated the names of her companions. She clutched at it and tried to scratch a sentence out between her ruby lips, but Sebastian only looked at her sadly as he failed to hear her say the words she mouthed. Disappointment washed over her face as she collapsed into the bed behind her. He sat beside her, offering his shoulder to be leaned on. She happily accepted and nestled into the warm flesh and fabric.

"The names of your friends are… probably the most important words you'll ever use. This simple pleasure, it is surely a gift given to you, as repayment for your hardship. I know mages do not always think of the Maker as a gentle god, but I believe he has been gentle to you. Men have abused a weakness, and the Maker has not seen it fit for them to do so." He was mostly talking to himself, trying to assure himself that he did the right thing the previous day, allowing Cullen to take care of what was templar business. She didn't move, nor did she try to say anything more. "I was afraid, yesterday. I was afraid that I would have to watch that again and again. This must be what Carver had told me about, seeing such a strong creature rendered weak by terrible men. You do—"

"Sebastian?" she asked, looking up into his cerulean orbs. He was mesmerized, captured by that innocent look. "Carver…"

"Oh, I have forgotten. I was trying to find you, because I had gotten in touch with your brother, through the Lothering Chantry. He rebuilt your family farm, he said, and found his old sweetheart. He wanted to know how you were, and he wished he could see you again. I offered to take you back, if you so wanted…" She shook her head. "Hawke? I want you to always do what you think is right, and I wish that you always know that… you are a special friend to me. "

Freed from her stupor, Lucy looked up with curious eyes. She smiled and leaned up to plant a kiss on his lips, quickly retreating to see his expression. With a finger she pointed at herself and said, "Luci… enda."

"Excuse… me?" He asked, confused.

"Sebastian," she said again, pointing at him. She pointed at herself once more and repeated, "Lucienda."

"Oh! That is… your real name?" He felt dense, not realizing what she was trying to say. She nodded and smiled. She held up her hands to form a heart and said his name in a charming tone. He laughed, "So you love me? Or is it just my name? You seem to like saying it."

She thought about this for a minute. She held her hands up again to make the shape, and strangled out, "Everyone."

"So you love everyone?" She nodded once more. Holding her arms out wide, she said, "Sebastian!"

"I guess that makes me your favorite?" She rubbed her face in thought. She shook her head, but then nodded. Four fingers were held up and she listed the names, "Sebastian… Anders… Fenris… Varric."

He wasn't surprised by the thought that she loved them all. Like the love of the Maker and Andraste, Hawke had cherished them all both as companions and as men. He had heard about her previously insatiable lust from Carver, though he suspected it was due to some Lyrium drug the Templars infected her with. He did not think badly of her wanting to hold so many people to her heart. They were a barrier between what was breaking and what was breaking it. Sebastian had first felt disgust when he found the female mage wrapped, though innocently in intent, around the apostate healer in the early hours of morning at one of their camps. Only later did he find out that the blonde had spent several hours into the late night comforting the girl who had nightmares about death and fire. "Sebaaasatian."

He had not realized he had been lost in thought until her hand was waved in his face. He merely smiled at her, taking her into his arms once again. "I… love you too. We all do."

"I… missed… you." She whispered as best she could. He was shocked, but he didn't let it show when he looked at her bright blue eyes and smiled. "I missed you too."

Her intention seemed pure when she once again reached up to capture his lips, and so he let her calmly press them together, but before he could react, he was shoved into the mattress, her body and mouth leaning into him needily. He moved to gently push her off, but his body went numb as magic poured through him, a paralysis spell no doubt. Sebastian was not worried about harm being done to him or Lucy, and he was no stranger to such actions, but his vow to the Chantry and the Maker seemed to be in more danger than his well being. He gave no offense to the beautiful mage, but his promise to the almighty was one he definitely intended to keep. However, it seemed to be out of his power as she greedily pulled layers of clothing off of him. The archer was not about to accuse her of acting like an animal, but when she looked up at him with those crystal eyes, he saw no light of the quiet spirit she possessed. They looked worn and pleading, as if she needed this. He couldn't object, the slave of a simple spell that was powerful in her hands.

As she rode him, his body pinned to the bed, her voice was freed and his name was sung like the Chant through crystal bells. He could not lie that he was not enjoying himself when her soft, warm body interrupted his fervent prayer begging the Maker and Andraste for forgiveness. She was inviting and her body did not feel spoiled from years of forced entry. If he was not a brother of the Chantry, he would have gladly taken her like a lover and shown her the tenderness she deserved. Now she was giving it to herself, treating him gently as if he was willing, and periodically looked at him with a loving gaze. Eventually, the magic holding him dissolved in an erratic fit has her body tightened around him and her moans grew louder. When he knew he was free, however, his body did not allow him to move before its purpose was fulfilled. She collapsed on top of him, sticky with sweat panting heavily. Her body shook on his chest and sobs echoed through the small room. Sebastian was shocked, if not just recovering from the terrible strain placed on his body. Muscles stretched back out, joints worked themselves back in place, and brains started working again.

She leapt from his still body, gathered her robes about her in the tidiest fashion she could muster, and fled from the room, being sure to close the door behind her. A sigh escaped his lips as he washed himself lightly and pulled his own clothing on himself. He forewent the armor and bow as he silently slipped out of his rented home and sought out the Grand Cleric for advice.

Sometime after they got back from the Deep Roads with their mountains of treasure, Varric took the money and found some 'connections' that could get the old Amell estate back to Hawke. Now she lived in a relative luxury that she constantly ignored, with Bodahn and his son Sandal taking care of the place. Her dog liked to sit in front of the fire and would playfully bother her when she came home. Today she had locked herself in her room and no one could get her out. Varric refused to pick the lock, saying that he may do it to his brother, but she was more than just family. Merrill tried a bit of blood magic to see if she could read her mind, but it went unfruitful. Anders was there now, drawing pictures on a piece of flat parchment that Bodahn found. He attempted to communicate at least through this silent means, but she never sent a message back. In a last ditch effort, he drew a big heart with a question mark inside it on the back of the sheet. After a few minutes of it sitting beneath her door, it disappeared quickly and rustling could be heard. His ear was pressed against the wood, straining to hear whatever it was she was doing with the drawing. Eventually it slipped back out and he picked it up hopefully.

Scrawled across the heart were two names that were terribly written: Anders and Sebastian. Outside the heart was a circle with the word 'friend' written backwards above it and the three names: Varric, Fenris, and Aveline. Outside both the heart and the circle was a box with the name Merrill written inside. Nowhere on the page was the name Isabela. In a corner of the page were the names of her family, outlined in a red ring. It was probably blood, but he did not think about it. What really caught his attention was what was done to the two names in the heart. His name was underlined in pen and an upside down question mark was above it. Sebastian's name had a strike through it and what looked to be the words 'hates me' and 'I am a monster' written beside it. In his own pen he circled the words, putting question marks around them; next to his name he drew several hearts and her name. The paper once again flew beneath the portal.

He didn't expect the door to open and for him to see a disheveled and dirty looking Hawke. Her eyes were rimmed with glistening tears and the paper was crumpled in her hand. She didn't look at him as he cautiously stepped inside. He was startled when she closed the door behind him and saw her move to her bed. The paper was discarded on the nightstand as she curled into a ball on the plush cover. He sat down on the opposite side and moved the hair out of her eyes. Her hand gingerly grasped his wrist and eventually pulled him down to lie beside her. Their eyes met briefly before their lips interlocked. It was a night of tender caresses and kind words as she was rocked into a state of complete relaxation.

In the morning, Anders found himself alone in a bed that was not the small cot he kept in Lowtown. There were no sounds of the sick outside the door, the room was not poorly lit, and there was a pleasant cooking smell wafting through the air. He was also devoid of a familiar angry feeling and felt more like his old self back in Amaranthine. He dismissed the thought and lazily got dressed. What concerned him the most was one absent Hawke.

He found her downstairs in the dining room with a plate of breakfast in front of her. Also occupying the table were several plates of assorted foods and an empty platter next to her. Anders took it to be his seat and took as much as he pleased from the various selections. He looked her and smiled. She smiled back. After breakfast, Lucienda washed her face and lied down on a big sofa lying in a nice side room that also functioned as a library. Before Anders left, he kissed her goodbye and settled a blanket on top of her.

For the rest of the day, Anders could not quite understand what was missing. He was, undoubtedly, very happy that whatever it was had disappeared, because he was feeling much livelier and did not miss the need to write useless manifestos.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I just noticed that I wanted to make clear the changes I made to the timeline of the game in this story. I realized, while typing this chapter, that it would seem a little confusing to someone who has not broken open my skull and peeked at the thoughts therein.

The beginning is pretty much from the game, where they flee and Bethany dies, since Hawke is a mage. However, Carver became the friendly one through a series of events that will come up later. They also go through their year of servitude, in this case to Meeran. Hawke sort of 'betrays' Meeran like in the quest you get and so Leandra dies early and also Gamlen is killed. Before they leave for the Deep Roads, Carver leaves for Lothering/Denerim instead of dying/becoming a warden/becoming a templar. Sebastian's quest also came before they left, so he joined the merry band of Hawke, but did not go with them. Varric, Fenris, and Anders were in the group. So technically, this story is a bit before the Deep Roads and skips around in the time after, currently five months after in this chapter. The next few chapters will probably happen during the three years that are not played before the year of the Qunari problems. When the main time frame changes, I'll let you know. And the thing with Anders is kinda… Weird, I know, but I just can't explain it. Think of some mushy reason, like… "There is justice in love." Or something.

I've been worrying about how 'rushed' the relationship between everyone seems, but I think it is because in fanfiction, unless it is the point of the plot, you cannot walk through every day of someone's life, else it take forever. So if you feel like it is rushed, I guess you can think of it as the game, where there are these big pieces of time where you have no idea what people did. Hopefully it will grow on me, else I'll be writing a whole lot more…

Also, I realize that I have been posting the chapters pretty quickly. If it makes anyone queasy, it's because I had about 17 Microsoft Word pages typed up before I began posting here, and each chapter is roughly 7 pages long. It also helps that sometimes I can't help to type.

T.I.M- Sorry about the punctuation issue, I keep forgetting to edit the blasted thing when I put it up on the site (It eats them like candy it seems). I appreciate comments, whether they are fangirly and sleep-deprived or not, since I sometimes do that myself. I wasn't sure how people would feel about this plot, so I'm happy at least someone does (or at least does enough to comment).

Thanks to you who are reading, please comment if you like/hate/are confused about anything!

* * *

><p>Chapter 4<p>

Life in the company rolled on in a relative calmness and only slightly different than before. The Chantry brother was rarely seen in her presence and refused to answer questions pertaining to that fact. Isabela would hardly say a word to the mage, claiming to only stay in Kirkwall because she was down one ship and she was already paid for a year at the Blooming Rose. Merrill and Lucy once again became friends, though a disappointed look on the elder mage's face proved to wither the blood mage at times. The elf learned never to mention it ever again when she made the mistake of purposing using the forbidden magic to restore the leader's voice.

However, as the months ran by, Hawke became more distant. She was more emotional it seemed and she spent a lot of time in her room. While visiting one day, Anders was the victim of Bodahn's complaints as he rattled off the strange foods that the lady of the house would request for meals at all hours of the day. He also noted that she was eating much more and seemed to look a little different. Intrigue peaked, the healer prodded the woman. She became quite fussy about it, as the dwarf had said, and all but threw him bodily from her room. He was thankful she couldn't scream, for she looked angered enough to blow the Keep down with a bellow.

Suspicion filled his mind as he walked to Lowtown, towards the Hanged Man. Ever since whatever it was left him; Justice had not bothered him about fulfilling his need for a good drink. Though he became tired more often when healing those less fortunate in Darktown, he had felt lighter and more like his old self. All he was missing was Ser Pounce-A-Lot and it would be the perfect nostalgia. When he sat down with Varric and Isabela, he brought the issue up in passing, though he was very vague about it. Isabela suggested the simple female alternative to the myriad of serious situations Anders had been considering. Varric was more serious as he put forth the response that had been on all their minds. The mage looked blankly into his mug of ale as he mulled over the reaction he should be having. Unless something had happened while they were not looking, her ailment could not be at the hand of a Templar. And if she hadn't visited some unknown third party, that left only him to be her carcinogen.

"I'll see her tonight and solve this," he said to no one in particular. The two rogues nodded in agreement and a last drain of tankards was made in unison. Anders left after a quick game of Wicked Grace and the sun had begun to set. Making his way through Hightown he took note of the severe lack of children in the streets. There were no young boys chasing each other, no little girls chatting quickly with their friends in new dresses. Just merchants and the rich aristocracy clogged pathways otherwise lifeless. He figured it was better than Lowtown and Darktown, where orphans and sick children sat in the dirt.

He was surprised to see Sebastian skulking in front of Hawke's door when he rounded the corner. The man looked troubled with his eyebrows knitted and wringing his hands. Blue eyes locked onto brown ones for just a moment before the former looked away in what seemed to be embarrassment. Anders approached carefully as if walking up to an armed man. The prince hung his head, staring at the ground, as he stood motionless in front of the wooden portal.

"So… What brings you here?" the mage asked at last, curiosity getting the best of him. "You haven't seen Hawke in four months. Well, maybe you have, but you didn't talk to her, let alone look her in the eye."

"I… had heard that she was ill. I came to check on her," he offered weakly. It may have been somewhat true, but the blonde knew better. To get the answer from him, he feigned sarcasm, "yeah, with all her moaning and complaining, it sounds like she's having twins."

This startled Sebastian almost out of his armor. He gave Anders a wide-eyed look filled with horror. That wasn't exactly the reaction he was expecting, but it would do. "Oh, you act like you knew. So, what are you really here for?"

The brunette looked back at his feet and shuffled a stone with his boot. He appeared to be on the verge of tears. "It is as I said, I heard she was sick, and I was concerned for her health. Nothing more."

"I thought it was against your vows to take anyone to bed?" Anders asked nonchalantly. This seemed to hit an open nerve with his companion. In a flash he was slammed against the wall, the few people passing by staring at the altercation. The mage was so amused that he had to laugh. "I guess it was too much for a prince to remain chaste for the rest of his life."

"Princes aren't immune to mage tricks either!" Sebastian yelled into his face. He caught of glimpse of anger and sadness crossing his face before it was washed away by a calm façade. Slowly he was let go as the rogue reached the door. Before he opened it, he gave Anders a look that spoke volumes.

Inside no one could be seen. No dwarves to greet them, no Hawke wafting through the halls. The fireplace was unlit and only a few candles lit the front room. A light could be seen under her bedroom door. Suddenly, while the two men inspected the other rooms, Hawke busted through the door, her staff in hand. Thankfully for reflexes, they were saved a scorching as a fireball made contact with a magical shield. When the smoke cleared, the door was closed once more.

"Messeres! She is out of her mind, I swear it! I told her there was never any dragon's heart, or whatever in the blazes she was asking for, and she just threw magic everywhere before locking herself in her room. I took Sandal with me into the kitchen, since it seems the door is sturdy enough. You have no idea how glad I am to see you," Bodahn said from in front of the kitchen door. He appeared more concerned than usual and a little thinner. He carried with him a candle as if it was his only defense. Anders gave him a reassuring look and a pat on the shoulder before he started up the stairs. Sebastian followed slowly behind, his head hung low as if in shame. The mage paid him no heed as he knocked on the door.

"Hawke! It's just me and Sebastian. You don't need to be so violent. Come on, open the door."

"Lucienda," Sebastian said in a voice barely above a whisper. Anders wasn't sure if he was speaking to himself, him, or the woman in question. "It took a long time for me to sort out the regret I felt that day, but I want you to know that I bare no hard feelings. You have been through so much and at the time I had forgotten about that. It wasn't your fault…"

Anders felt a little shocked at the words coming from the royal's mouth. Possible situations rattled through his head while the door slowly opened. Her head, eyes dulled and hair disheveled, peaked through the crack. They were let inside, allowing them to take in her messy living quarters. Blank vellum pages were scattered around floor, some more with ink blotches littered a small corner by the bed. When he was done inspecting, her turned to Sebastian and noticed the concerned look on his face. Following his gaze, he was faced with the middle of Lucy's body. The finery she wore during her time at home made the need for concern very obvious.

"I guess I was at least partially correct…" he said in a low tone. He looked over the rest of her body, taking note of her flushed face and the slight layer of weight she had gained. Before he could say anything more, Sebastian had crossed the room and took Hawke gently into his arms. She looked lost but wrapped her arms around him nonetheless. It was touching, he supposed, but he was soon distracted by the faint sound of a familiar voice. "Justice! That's what was missing all this time. How could I not have noticed? But if he's not with me, then where…"

Hawke gave a sob, causing Sebastian to release his grip and look at her critically. What Anders was being told in his head felt like too much to believe. He had to get an answer from the source. "Sebastian, what was her magic trick?"

"She…" he paused and bit his lip sheepishly. Once again those blue eyes looked down at the ground in shame. "She paralyzed me, when I was taking care of her last. I was shocked, because she had started talking normally… She paralyzed me with a spell and…"

"It's okay, I get it," he cut him off before he had to watch the man cry. He sighed in defeat and tried to offer comfort to the breaking woman. She allowed him to and almost collapsed in his grip. The man gently sat her on the edge of the bed. Tears were in her eyes once more. Anders looked her in the eye, a silent request held between them, before he placed a soft hand on her abdomen. Without prompting, his hand came to life with blue magic. He guessed he wasn't hearing things after all.

"Normally I'd be happy for you two, but… Well, this is obviously a hard situation. I think I'll let you sort it out, however best you can," Anders said, as he walked away hesitantly. He left the rogue and the mage in what seemed to be a battle to burn the floor with their gazes. If it was not a joke, he knew that Hawke would win anyways. For now, he had to sort out his own head. Also, a strong drink was in order. Varric was sure to need company.

"Hawke, I am not sure what I can possibly say right now," the prince admitted, looking up only to realize she was crying and playing with the hem of her shirt in anxiety. He approached her carefully, a calloused hand gently removing the fabric from her grip while the other tilted her wilting head upwards. Sebastian smiled as best he could, hoping it offered some window through the barrier that seemed to separate them. She smiled back, though much more sadly, but it still gave him a chance. Before he could say any more, she brought him into a firm embrace.

Time seemed to move through a sifter that night. He could only remember silly little instances; them sitting beside each other on the bed, the way she fell asleep against his shoulder for just a minute, the bowing of Hawke's head as she apologized to her servants, and the delicious cake she had made in the middle of the night after his stomach had complained of hunger. Somewhere in between, they had a conversation that Sebastian had rehearsed for the past five months. It made him feel better that she offered no objections.

"I consulted the Grand Cleric, that day. At first she seemed worried for me, but Elthina saw something on my face, or heard it in more words. She became gentler and told me what I never wanted to hear since I took my vows," he said, stopping to take a sip of the warm tea she had just served him. The royal rogue looked lost in his thoughts, but she still listened. "She said I was in love, that this situation was meant to be by the Maker. I said that it had to be some fluke, that the Maker would purposefully allow a man to take vows and then just as quickly make him break them because of something trivial like love. But no, Elthina stood there and did her best to convince me that meeting you, watching you go through so much, and then be some sort of… saving grace for you, were all a learning experience that I needed. Lucy… I will always think of myself as a brother of the Chantry, I will always follow the Maker and his bride Andraste, but… you have taught me to be straight with myself. I am a religious man, but religion is not where I need to be, not anymore."

She looked at him curiously, emotion twinkling in those startling blue eyes of hers. He sighed, but not out of tiredness or defeat. It was a happy sigh, accompanied by a smile and a small laugh afterwards. His hands were becoming sweaty, so sweaty he had to put his tea cup down in fear of dropping it. The Prince of Starkhaven wringed his hands and felt his heart quicken. "Your courage and your trust in me have rekindled the pride inside of me, the pride that told me that I was a prince of a great city, a city that needs me now. I will remove the cross of the Chantry from my back and replace it with that of Starkhaven's people. Lucy, I want to live my life right this time, with someone I love, not going around through the taverns and brothels like I used to."

A hand touched his face. It was warm and had a soft touch. For a moment, he did not realize it was hers, nor did he remember where he was. All he could feel was the tingle of her magic as it wove into his skin; not malicious like before, but soothing and healing. Sebastian looked at her as if she might slap him and run away, but her expression smoothed the wrinkles from his brow and the questioning face became knowing. Before her angelic voice rung in his ears, he had already heard her words. In the corners of his mind he was sure he had heard some proverb about silent bells being the most beautiful when they finally ring. She had rung: "I love you, Sebastian."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry for the long wait, 'twas busy and, well, unable to think about the story. Hopefully this isn't too depressing? For a while this will be more character development, in a way. Something kinda gruesome happens every now and then, but I don't think it'll be too graphic.

Please enjoy and review~

Chapter 5

In a very normal manner, the Hawke Company, as some liked to call the ragtag group, grew closer despite everything that had happened. Varric and Sebastian had together been able to teach Lucienda how to read and write, earning them sighs of relief and hefty shoulder-pats for making a new communication bridge. Isabela had learned of her secret kinky side and unique humor. Finally Varric did not have to watch her read empty pages any more. Fenris would find encouraging little notes dictated by drawings stuck behind the labels of his wine. Anders had appreciated her help in the little hospital, mostly because she made everyone cheer up. Merrill particularly enjoyed cooing over the swelling belly underneath her robes. Aveline became softer, allowing Donnic to sit with her and enjoy some humble company when everyone was busy.

While Anders was just below in Darktown, Sebastian had moved into the old Amell estate with Hawke, though he mostly insisted on sleeping in the other room. He would however tip-toe into her room at night when he could hear her sobbing through the walls. She had become emotional, though it wasn't always evident. She insisted they still do favors and missions in the city, but they persuaded her not to join any fights. Sometimes a letter would float to Varric and he would lead them on some simple mission that she insisted was urgent but did not require her. Hawke became almost a ghost, even when everyone gave her attention. The Starkhaven prince tried his best to make her whole again, but as time moved on it became harder to break through her veil of silence.

Anders dropped by periodically to check on her, though it seemed very unnecessary. He'd prod and ask a question, and would frown at the haggard look on her face. He told her to sleep more, to get out in the sunshine, and eat better, but Sebastian told him time and again that she would refuse to move. One day, when she was eight months along, the brunette finally managed to get her outside. They took a brief but refreshing walk to the Chantry, the sun shining brightly, the air for once clean smelling, and a slight breeze cooled the air. Her small mage's hand reached out and clasped around his roughened fingers and they walked that way all the way to the door.

The trip served many purposes, but the main intent was that Sebastian wished to show Elthina how devoted he was to the woman carrying his child. Every day he took some small amount of time to come to the Chantry to show that he was still strong in his faith, but when the Grand Cleric had caught him praying for Lucy's health when she had caught a small cold, the woman had insisted that he use the time he spent praying to comfort the ailing girl. Now she was well enough to move around and Sebastian wanted to share at least one thing with her. Through the quick afternoon service, Hawke simply played with the hem of her long tunic that covered her swollen stomach. He would reach out when his hands weren't clasped in prayer and pluck a hand away so she would settle down. She was so agitated that an older lady who was nearby asked if she was feeling okay. When Hawke didn't answer, Sebastian swiftly apologized, explained her ailment, and embarrassedly admitted that she wasn't really an Andrastian. A few citizens who had overheard gave the two a quick glance before moving on with the service.

When all was done and the church-goers had cleared out, the rogue led Lucy to the Grand Cleric. She beamed at the quiet mage, commenting on her good health and the fact that she had showed up. Hawke dismissed her questions about becoming more devoted by finding something very interesting about the floor. Sebastian felt once again embarrassed that he had to admit that her faith was probably nonexistent.

"Your Grace, I brought her here so that maybe the words of the Maker will reach her, so she will not be so lost like many others who do not follow his will. Now I do not even know if I can expect my own child to believe in Andraste and the Maker," his voice was low, as if he was confessing some terrible crime. Elthina reached out and placed a soft hand on his shoulder.

"Even the innocent have nothing to fear, even if they do not hold on to faith. Give it time, and if time decides that it is not to be, than it is the Maker's will," she looked softly at Hawke, who was still staring at the ground. "I pray for you child, and your own child, every day. May the—"

Hawke let out a scream that, though stifled by closed lips and a hand clamped over her mouth, pierced through the Chantry hall. Her hand dug into Sebastian's arm, drawing dots of blood where her nails punctured skin. Legs dropped out from underneath her as she clutched herself and groaned again. Elthina remained calm and called for someone to help while the prince stared down at his bride-to-be in shock. His hands reached for her but he was pulled away by the tender hands of a sister. No one felt confident enough to move the writhing woman as she moaned and cried. A water-like substance was pooled where she kneeled on the floor and he could hear someone reciting the Chant starting from the beginning. No specific verse was said, as was usual of Chanters, but they found it necessary that the whole thing be said. It took Sebastian a second glance to realize why there was so much alarm; the water had turned to blood laced with lyrium.

Anders was led to the Chantry by two very startled priestesses. He had been sitting in Hawke's foyer, waiting for them to return from the small errand. When he was sure it was taking longer than necessary, he had started walking towards the building and had bumped into the two who were looking for him. He called Lucy's name, ran to her side, and tried his best to soothe her. During the commotion someone had arranged a make-shift cot in front of the altar and took it upon themselves to clean up the mess.

Sebastian had no capacity to think at that moment. Many thoughts filled his head but not begin to register until he saw her hand reach towards him and heard her melodic voice call out his name. Without hesitation he took that hand, knelt in the lyrium pool, and stroked her hair. Elthina and another sister helped Anders deliver the child into the world under the Maker's roof and Andraste's eyes. Everyone was sent back to their rooms and the Chantry was closed to give them a relaxed atmosphere. The prince thought his hand would break from the force of her grip and his ears would burst from the volume of her strangled screams as she pushed with all of her strength. He couldn't say anything, struck with her silence as she cursed and bickered with Anders between groans. The moment the spirit healer said the child's head could be seen, a single thought filled the archer's head.

_I'll be a father. _It would not leave his head. It coiled around his thoughts like a deadly serpent. His inner voice repeated it over and over, varying tones drawing him to terrible conclusions. Only one of the voices made him feel happy. It was her voice. "You'll be a father now."

He looked at her endearingly, tears sliding down his face, unable to wipe them away as he clutched her hand in both of his. His prayer to the Maker that she would be safe was punctuated by her last scream. The hand between his grew weak, but not limp, as he heard Anders' voice say, "It's a boy."

Towels were exchanged; the child was washed and wrapped up warmly. Sebastian could not take his eyes away from Hawke's pale face as she panted quickly. Blue healing light gleamed in his peripheral as Anders finished his work. A hand patted his shoulder strongly and he could hear the man say, "Congratulations. The only way I could be happier for you… well, I could only be happier now if he was my own, but that goes a little unsaid. You'll be a great father and… you will be a great man to her."

Wise words said, Anders checked on the baby before he left silently. The squirming bundle was placed in the man's arms when he could be convinced to let go of Hawke's hand. The boy was quiet, but very much active. He was a little small, which was only natural of an early birth, but he filled Sebastian with thoughts of a strong young man learning to wield a bow and reading stories to his mother. Tears splattered on the child's face and after he wiped them away, he leaned down to give the tiny forehead a tender kiss. A feminine hand reached up to caress the small face.

"Percival."

It was the middle name her father had owned and he had agreed it a good name to give the child. The rest of the day was a smeared image of peace and quiet comfort.

Before the sun set, Hawke bundled up the small child in an embroidered blanket and set off towards the Gallows. She avoided any contact with anyone she knew, hiding her face amongst a cowl and shadows. As they were about to lock the gates she swiftly slipped inside and made a beeline for the First Enchanter's office. The elf peered curiously around the door as he opened it and quickly allowed her inside. She refused to take a seat and instead offered a simple note for him to read.

"Dear First Enchanter,

Five months ago today I bore a son. I am certain that he is capable of magic. In fact, he has been given the spirit of Justice by my companion, Anders. I do not wish my son to live with the fear I had and I cannot teach him myself how to hide his gift. Please take care of my Percival."

He looked up, concern covering his face. She was holding the squirming child towards him, tears streaming down her otherwise emotionless face. Orsino felt a twinge of regret for what he was about to do. "Are you sure?"

She nodded. The child was exchanged. In passing, he noticed the boy's name lovingly stitched into the soft blue cloth. Lucy left silently.

When she returned, Anders was waiting in the foyer, impatiently pacing in front of the fire. His first observation was the dried tears. The second was the lack of a smaller Hawke in her possession.

"Why are you crying? Where is Percival?"

"Circle."

"Why would—what—you of all people should know what a terrible place the Circle is. Haven't I told you enough?" he asked in anger. She was stony faced as she nodded and walked past him. The mage grabbed her arm roughly. The look of defeat on her face broke his resolve and he let go. Like a ghost she wandered up the stairs and locked her bedroom door behind her.

The next morning Anders made an unexpected trip to the Chantry. He waited until the morning prayer was finished being sung and he searched the crowd for the white shining armor of a prince of a far away land. He was sitting closest to the altar, still kneeling in prayer. Grand Cleric Elthina was standing close-by, saying something only Sebastian could hear. The healer gave them a moment of privacy. He could not help but over hear some of the words exchanged.

"—the Maker's will—" "—If this is the Maker's will—" "—Do not say such things—" "—hate more, her or fate—" "—not her fault—" "Then it is my own."

The brown-haired man quickly stood up, face filled with anger but also stained with streams of sadness. The elderly woman attempted to place her hand on his shoulder, but he jerked it away. His striking blue eyes looked at her in defiance and confusion. "I should have kept my vows; this is why the Maker has punished me like this! To take away my own son, a son I should not have had, but my son nonetheless. I do not know if I should hate myself or question if the Maker really exists! What can I do to atone for this? I cannot even love the woman of my heart, because all of our children will just… disappear from my arms in the night! Because the damned Maker wants them to have this gift and his bride wished them to be caged! I want to make her my wife, I want my son and many more children, and I want my country to be free… I want my life back and the Maker isn't going to give it to me!"

This was no time for smoldering hatred. Sebastian was aflame with such pure rage that he ran as hard as he could from the woman. Anders saw only his gritted teeth, clenched fists, and tightly shut eyes holding back tears before his shimmering image rushed past him. He sighed to himself; there was no talking to him now. Elthina looked towards the exit with a lost look on her face. At least someone was there to need comforting. The mage approached her carefully, making sure his movements were reserved and his tone soft.

"I'm sure he did not mean it, Your Grace." His calloused hand clasped her slight shoulder as she wiped a tear away with the corner of her sleeve. She did not sniffle or sob, but merely leaked her sorrow out and dabbed it away like it was something common. Her smile faltered only a little.

"My child, this time I believe he is serious. I thought maybe he would find peace in this Chantry, whether he remained a brother or returned to the throne. When he made his vows, I thought he was really a believer and would not leave us. He still wanted revenge for his family; I figured it only natural and something that would go away if his faith was resolved. But when Hawke came and helped him, I saw him shift. That girl had problems of her own and I wish she had been an Andrastian so I could help her find solace, but it is obvious how life for her has turned out. He loves her more than Andraste loved the Maker, so help me if I am wrong. She is a woman amongst all. This time, his faith is certain, but he is too confused to know it." She gave Anders a nod before she walked away to do her own duties. "May the Maker be with you."

The healer sighed and stood in silence for a few moments. Eventually he made his way to his clinic in Darktown. Maybe a few scrapped up children would cheer him up.

Sebastian stared at her lying in the middle of the floor. Standing next to him was Bodahn and Sandal, the first having summoned him and the second having stood watch while his father was out looking for the prince. She was completely immobile save for the slight rise in her chest as she breathed. Arms stretched straight out and legs firmly kept locked together, she stared blankly at the ceiling. Her mage's staff was tied to both her arms, making them impossible to bend. She had her best robes on. Beneath her was a pile of firewood from the stack nearby. At first he was alarmed but when she said or did nothing, he was simply captivated. What was this for?

"Do you have any idea, messere? She won't do anything to communicate, other than when she said 'I am ready' when I found her. She's been like this since before the sun rose and its now almost nightfall!" Bodahn pulled at his beard like he usually did when he was deeply concerned or in thought. Sebastian tried to take a step forward, but a sigil on the floor lit up and kept him from entering the circle surrounding her. "Sandal ran right into that when he saw her. It hasn't disappeared since."

"Hawke, what is the meaning of this?" She was silent. "Lucienda, this is a serious matter. What is wrong?" She was silent still. No movement. "For the love of—What in Andraste's name are you doing?"

She did not budge as he reached out and slammed his fist on the barrier. It remained strong and she remained silent. Sebastian turned to Bodahn and told him find Anders. The dwarf scurried away as if his life depended on it. After a while, Sandal became uninterested and went back to the kitchen. Her fiancé stood vigil over the strange image.

When the clock nearby stuck seven, the wood underneath her caught fire. At first he did not notice, but when the crackle and hiss filled the room, he rushed to the blue barrier, screaming and pounding his fist on its unyielding surface. It grew brighter and stronger until he could no longer see her small form. The barrier gave a burst of energy, causing him to fly backwards into a wall. Through blurred eyes he could see Anders' familiar face around the ball of magic, terror plastered on his face. When he tried to recall the event to Varric, all he could remember was the mage taking down the barrier, the fire raging in the middle of the room, and the blonde's figure pulling her body from the flames.

Anders had remembered it so vividly that when he recalled it, Varric excused himself to vomit in the back room. Everyone sat in varying degrees of shock. Merrill was bursting with tears. Aveline herself was moved to the liquid signs of sadness, though silently. Isabela downed more alcohol than usual. Fenris was clawing the mug in front of him until he eventually caused a crack to split the container in two. Sebastian stared at his hands as he picked at the bandages covering them where he had at some point touched her burning body. It was hard for anyone at this time to believe she was alive.

When Anders had arrived at the Hawke estate, the fire had only just spread to her robes. They were mostly flame retardant, which he was unsure if it was intentional or not. The barrier was powerful, but not too hard for him to deal with. It was reaching through that scorching heat that felt unbearable. He saw the blackening skin, the burn golden hair, and the tears turning to steam on her cheeks. A pendent with her son's name was branding a moon-shaped pattern into her chest where the clothing had burned away. Her staff was salvageable, having resisted self-combustion many times over. The robes were completely incinerated. Her skin was blotched with burns. Muscles poked out through smoking wounds. He remembered using so much lyrium and strength to heal it all to a bearable degree. He recalled having to bodily remove Sebastian from her side and from her bedroom when he had lied her down to recover. The man was crying so much that he had to remind himself that Hawke was not dead, at least not yet.

She had awoken the next day. Her left eye would not open; she could not breathe through her nose, and had a hard time using her limbs. It was expected, he supposed, that she would need so much care. He however did not expect her to speak so fluently with him. When he asked if something still hurt, she would say yes. When he asked if she wanted him to heal her, she said no. When he asked why she did it, she answered.

"I do not deserve to live, to be happy. I considered throwing myself to the templars or disappearing into the Blooming Rose. I thought about drowning myself, about throwing myself from the Wounded Coast cliffs. I once thought about asking to be Tranquil. I finally decided that I needed to die. After a few hours of late night plotting and reading, I settled for what you saw. I tried to save the house, so I added the barrier. I did not count on you being able to break it. Whatever you do," her eyes gleamed when she turned them to him, "do not tell Sebastian. Or I will destroy you."

She refused to say anything else and he decided to leave her alone. He called everyone together in the Hanged Man and so they came. Everything felt surreal as they sat around a candle lit table in the midnight hour, sharing nothing but some dirty secret and cheap ale. Varric came back, looking pale and ashamed. No one judged him, though, as undoubtedly they all felt sick. When nothing else could be said, they went their separate ways to homes where they could privately mourn the metaphorical death of their leader.

Sebastian wandered through the streets of Hightown. Not even the thugs bothered him this time. Either everyone in the city was asleep or they could sense that the man was spiraling into a deep despair. Normally he would return to the Chantry and he took the time to silently consider the locked iron doors. He could not apologize and when he heard Anders' story, he knew why. What he had said was true. The Maker either did not exist or did not care. This time he knew what he wanted, but it felt beyond his reached. If he successfully petitioned the Viscount, he could take back his land, which was easy. He would have his pick of future brides when he reclaimed the throne. The problem was none of them would be the one he wanted. She was currently lying in bed, nursing charred skin and stiff joints. Now he had nowhere to go; he had turned his back on his god and he could no longer face the love of his heart. Eventually he found his way to the Darktown hospital, where he collapsed against the closed door and was at some point dragged away into a welcoming black abyss.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: I want to make these chapters longer, but they just seem to end so well. D: Phooey. The enemy in this chapter is completely made up, by the way. And I feel like this story is getting progressively worse? xD PS I am not completely familiar with the development of small children, but since my 1 year old neice can almost walk and says sorta-kinda-words, I will assume Percival can walk somewhat and say simple words when he comes around later in the chapter.

T.I.M. – Don't feel bad, I really enjoy your comments—I look forward to them when I put a new chapter up, in fact! It's nice to hear an opinion from someone I know isn't just trying to please my silly obsessions. XP

Chapter 6

Sebastian awoke to an unfamiliar place. He remembered falling asleep in front of Anders' hideout, but he did not recall coming anywhere else. This place had molding walls and a dripping ceiling. His arms and ankles were chained to the wall. There was an almost debilitating ache in his neck. The room smelled worse than Darktown, if that was even possible.

"Awake, _your highness_?" an unrecognizable voice said, its masculine tone piercing the air. Standing in front of him was an imposing man dressed in tight leather armor and a heavy blade hanging at his hip. Sebastian was too weary to feel threatened or afraid. He felt drained of energy and uncharacteristically reserved. His blue eyes simply stared at the man, making no effort to show defiance. "Too scared to talk, eh? Usually you noble types run your mouths off when captured, asking for mercy and offering money… Well, even if you did offer it to us, it's not what we want."

The man walked to the wall where a shield hung on a hook. On it was the familiar heraldry of the Amell family. He took it off and slammed it on the ground in front of the rogue's feet, crushing it with his foot into the ground. "Your bitch of a leader should learn her place. Nobody crosses me and gets away with it."

"And who exactly are you?" Vael asked him. He did not recognize the man's face, though that did not mean much in the ways of Hawke as she had been in this town at least a year before he met her. He knew the stories of how she worked for Meeran the mercenary. This challenger could be anyone she had somehow wronged while under his employ. The man sneered. "It doesn't matter to you. You're just bait."

The man left and did not come back. There was no natural light in the room, making it hard to judge how much time had passed. He determined roughly what time it was by the increasing ache in his empty stomach. At first it was breakfast that he had missed. Then he became very agitated as noon tea and lunch clawed more emptiness into him. He passed out for an immeasurable amount of time as the nap he liked to have with Hawke was nowhere to be had. When he woke up he felt terrible and decided that it was well past supper. His captors made no attempt to keep him alive. He considered praying to the Maker, but many times he reminded himself that it was useless. However, when all seemed lost, he broke down and spoke out to the invisible entity that he had believed in once so completely.

In the middle of his chant, he heard the splintering of wood, the rushing sound of fire, the screams of men dying, and the clinking of metal. It echoed through the labyrinth of rooms and hallways. Time dragged on like a slug in the night air. Sebastian had forgotten how to breathe. Was this some sign from the Maker?

Suddenly, the man from before ran into the room with several others behind him. There was a mixture of anger and fear in their eyes. One of them tried to bar the door, others stood with weapons ready, and their leader drew his sword and held it to his throat. Loud steps continued to get stronger. In an instant, the heavy wooden door was ripped from its hinges and laid shattered on the ground. The armored figure stepped over it, making its strides deliberate as it crushed the man trying to escape from beneath it. Its strong arm ran the sword through the planks. A cry was heard before silence filled the room. Blood slowly pooled on the floor.

"What are you standing around for? Kill him!" the leader yelled. Like caged rats the men charged the suit of armor and like stalks of wheat they fell by the sharp blade. The thug's armor clattered from where his legs were shaking. Sebastian felt as if he was watching from outside of the room. Slowly the blade started to prick his neck but he did not notice. He barely heard the man threaten his life while he watched the figure take a smudge of blood on its finger and paint a symbol on its breastplate.

He knew what that meant. That circle, the emptiest circle he had ever seen. It was so perfectly round without the aid of a compass. Every time she drew it, and he had watched her draw it so much, it was as if she was born to draw it. It was her sign for emptiness. The sign of silence. The sign of the Circle. The sign for Death. As his mind turned, recalling how he had found the sign drawn on papers that littered her floor, smeared on the walls in wax, berry juice, animals' blood, encompassing seemingly random objects, he remembered how perfectly round the mound of wood she lied on was. Memory turned to horror as he realized who was standing there in black armor, holding in that steel grip a sword made for mindless killing.

"Lucienda." The name turned his tongue to ice; his throat lit on fire, and stopped the movement of his thoughts. He imagined those blue eyes not even blinking as the man threatening him out of pure fear was hacked at the waist with that dreadful blade. Blood splattered his face, stung his eyes, but he still stared at her. Why no magic? Why this unbearable image standing in front of him?

He could not begin to speak before three men; first Fenris, then Anders, lastly Varric, rushed into the room. The elf was unsurprised, Anders looked ready to hide, and Varric looked from Hawke to Sebastian, giving him a pitying glance. While the dwarf picked the locks on his chains, he whispered softly, "surely that is not her?"

"We all wish it wasn't, I suppose. Sorry I can't tell you what you want to hear," the man replied, removing the last shackle with an unceremonious clink. Vael gave his joints an opportunity to realign before he insisted that he really wanted to go home. They passed through Darktown, where Anders quietly slipped away to his clinic. In Lowtown they had to convince Varric that he should go to the Hanged Man, get a drink, write the story down, and then go to bed. Fenris' house was beyond Hawke's and so he gave the two a restrained good night before walking off. Sebastian was about to follow him, to go to the Chantry, but he remembered that it wasn't where he belonged. Just because he had prayed for the Maker to rescue him, this devil in black armor was not his love even if she was his savior. Not once on the way home did she remove her helmet, leaving those judging empty eyes to stare into his heart.

"Are you coming or not?" he heard a voice ask. Turning, he saw her standing in the open doorway, the helmet removed to reveal a face weary with battle, scabbed from her self-inflicted fire, and eyes too empty for comfort but filled with enough life to tell him she was still with them. His feet moved towards her before he could think to refuse. She let him inside first, stepped in after him, and locked the door behind her.

Inside was dimly lit, with no dwarf servants in sight. He looked at the clock and felt more tired when he saw that it read one o'clock. With unregistering eyes he watched as she peeled the pieces of armor off of her body while going up the stairs. His silent feet took him to the room he felt that he had no right to enter. He watched as she set the pieces on their stand, the helmet staring at him from the table. In the corner he could see her staves discarded in a pile, along with most of her robes. On the bed were her remaining two favorite robes that could be passed as just nice clothing if needed. There were boxes sitting in front of the four-poster, emblazoned with the names of well-known tailors in the city. A new pair of boots sat next to them.

"What's all of this?" he asked, his tone more curious than accusing. She waited until she was done setting up her armor to reply. Her face feigned amusement, but her voice was still devoid of emotions while she talked. "Anders insisted I get out and do something to cheer myself up. I decided to buy some new clothes. Why? Did you want to see them?"

"Not right now. Why the armor? Why are all of your things over there?" he jerked his head in the direction of the sad pile. She nodded in understanding.

"I will never do magic again." The words slipped from her mouth in the darkest voice he had heard. It sounded as if she were berating herself. He watched as she picked up her best staff, examined it carefully, and set it aside her robes lying on the bed. She then carefully folded the robes, took the clothes out of one box, and placed the old clothes inside it. Sealing it with a ribbon, she scribbled a note on a scrap of scroll, slipped it under the bindings, and shoved the box under the bed. The staff soon followed, being handled like a live snake.

"I'm afraid to ask, but why?" He was too curious for his own good. So many questions filled his head that he could only grab one as it passed by. She didn't seem upset as much as empty. It was as if he were talking to a Tranquil. When the thought came to him, he mentally beat himself for thinking it. The thought made him worry; not because he would miss her magic, but because he didn't want to lose her colorful personality.

"It went away. Along with our son." Hawke sat on the now cleared bed and began cleaning her nails with an intricately carved bone. Her hands were stained red from blood, but all she did was get the dirt out. Sebastian figured she planned on taking a bath when he went to bed. He was looking forward to the warm bed with its conforming pillows and mattress, but also to cleaning himself after the day's wear. Now what worried him was her complacency. He quickly blamed it on shock and stress.

"You can talk fine now." It was a statement, not a question, but she felt compelled to answer him as she looked into his bright eyes. No false smile covered her face. A deep frown broke her face's smooth complexion. "It felt as if I was sick. When I lied there yesterday, waiting for time to pass, I thought about how easy life would have been if I had known how to talk. I woke up from Anders' magic and it felt as if something had been dislodged. Like when I lost my magic when Percy was born, it was like I was suddenly disconnected from something I did not know was there."

So she barely knew herself. He sighed. The only thing that concerned him now was a question he wished to never ask. He nodded to her, picked up the night clothes – neatly folded beside the wardrobe he normally kept them in – and made for the bath silently. In the warm water he watched blood swirl on the surface. Beneath him he saw the dirt falling slowly to the bottom. A quick scrub got rid of the grime, a mixture of herbs that Hawke made washed out anything in his hair, making it silky smooth while also giving it a faint pleasant smell. It reminded him of the countryside in Starkhaven, minus the animal stench. He reached over and took the vial that housed her favored scent and sniffed it. It was like fresh flowers and mountain air. Replacing it on the small table he got out, dried himself off, put on his clothes, and got the bath ready for her.

"You are so kind, considering the circumstances," he heard her voice say from behind him. He filled the porcelain tub up with warm water and turned to meet her gaze. Normally he would have looked away from her half naked form—only a towel draped around her waist – but he was mesmerized by the pattern of scars and scabs covering her body. Anders had done a miraculous job of healing them quickly and had probably given her a salve to continue helping the skin heal naturally. She looked as if she had just fallen down a short rocky hillside, not set herself on fire. Finally he looked away.

"There is no real reason to be upset. You did what you had to. I do not blame you for the magic running in your veins." He picked up his used towel and shyly squeezed himself past her. The door shut behind him, giving him space to breathe a sigh of relief. He needed some good rest before he could face her any further.

At some point during the night he was roused by a warm body pressing up against his. It was flat so he assumed she had pressed her back upon his chest. He could smell the flowers and fresh air. His hand unconsciously wrapped itself around her waist, pulling her close. They had often slept like this when she was with child. He stifled a whimper when it reminded him that his son would not see him ever again. Faintly he could hear that she was crying too, but she tried her best to hide it. In the still darkness, they interlocked and connected in a bond neither wanted. The bond of knowing they had lost the same things; family and faith.

A year passed. The Qunari had started their fight and had been felled by Hawke's new blade. She gained the title of Champion of Kirkwall, but the name was not tossed around so much as was the names of Meredith and Orsino. With the Viscount gone, the two were always in heated debate. In one ear, the friends of mages and the mages themselves whispered the need for freedom. In the other ear, supporters of Meredith's firm hand encouraged her to keep the mages in their place. Many people began to forget that she was once an apostate herself. Only Orsino brought it up, sending her letters to talk about her son. She was not allowed to see him, par Circle rules, but he insisted that she needed to know since the boy was taken much younger than was usual. The old elf told her of the kind woman who nursed and raised him. He described how he showed magical talent well before other children, saying he would be a very powerful mage—may even become a first enchanter himself. However, Lucienda avoided the Gallows almost religiously.

Everyone in the Hawke Company knew that Anders still smuggled mages out of the Gallows. One day, he came to Sebastian and told him that he could arrange for Percival's care-taker to bring him out into the courtyard so that he and Hawke could see him. When the rogue went to tell her the good news, he caught a glimpse of her hiding something in the wardrobe. He dismissed it in his flurry of happiness and shared the information. She smiled, nodded her head, said that sounded great, and made herself scarce for the rest of the day. When it came time for them to head to the Gallows the next day, he found her drunk at the Hanged Man in Varric's back room. The dwarf had stepped out for the week, claiming he had something urgent but manageable to deal with, and so it gave her full access to his stores and room.

"Why do you insist on not seeing him?" Vael asked angrily. She continued to wallow on Tethras' bed, an empty bottle of Antivan brandy in her hand. He plucked it up, slammed it down next to the other bottles, and picked her up by the shoulders. A quick shake had her squealing in fear. He would have been startled if he wasn't so upset. "He's your own damn son!"

"If I see him, I will want him back," she said, sounding ashamed. He let her down gently, allowing her to sway on the bed. Sitting next to her, he wrapped an arm about her shoulders and held her close. She cried a little and his calloused hands wiped them away as they came down. "I wanted to do the right thing, Sebastian, but now it feels like I've ruined everything. If I never see him again… then I won't know it was a bad decision."

He had assured her on many occasions that what she had done was right, at least according to the law. Anders would argue with him for a while, but when she broke into tears, even he himself admitted it was probably best. The boy had a better chance than most mages of not becoming an abomination, even though they were positive he now harbored Justice. It however had been contemplated that it really was Justice, and not the spirit of Vengeance that Anders had turned him into. There was no hate in the child to twist the pure feelings of a spirit intent on making the world better. At least it had quelled the mage's need to put himself into extreme danger for a cause that now every day felt like fighting thin air and talking to a wall.

In silence they sat until it was almost time to go to the gallows. She refused to move, saying she would see him when she wasn't so drunk, and curled up on Varric's bed to sleep off the alcohol. Sebastian was left to solemnly walk through Lowtown to get to the Docks. There Anders was waiting by a boat, watching the water lick the stone walls. He was about to ask where Lucy was, but the archer simply shook his head and moved to sit in the boat.

His heart felt like it was lodged in his throat as they walked through the gates. Desperately he looked around for anyone who might be the woman they came to see. Gently Anders tugged him towards the small corner in the back. Sadly Sebastian remembered this corner as the one where he watched his love's pain become real. But this time there stood a pretty young woman holding a squirming child in her arms. Without prompting she set the child down on his two feet and they watched as he waddled towards Anders. The mage laughed and lifted the small child into his arms.

"This is your father, Percy, do you want to see your father?" he asked the boy, letting him look at Sebastian. He looked like him when he was but a small child. His hair was a chestnut brown and his eyes a startling blue like his mother's. He had a look of curiosity in his face but it was mixed with a little fear. It was natural, he supposed, since he was a stranger. He wondered if anyone had talked to the boy about his parents, how his father was a noble prince of a nearby province and how his mother was the Champion of Kirkwall. He reached out his arms towards his son and was actually surprised that he reached towards him in return. Gently he took him into arms and gave him a wide smile. Little hands ran over his face.

"Papa?" It was the simplest word the prince knew, yet it made him want to break into tears.

"Yes, I'm your papa," he choked out, nodding his head. He could hear the young girl sniffled nearby. People were staring at the scene, but Anders gave them dirty looks to get them to move on. If no one made a big deal of this, then the Templars wouldn't have to get involved. No one wanted to have the boy get in trouble for meeting his parents at least once before he grew up into a secluded mage. Unlike most children that came to the Circle, Percival had not had the chance to grow up in a family. Even if he met his parents now, if he never saw them again, he would one day forget this meeting. Anders assured him that at least someone could be persuaded to let this go if they were caught.

"Mama?"

"Mama… Mama will see you soon, I promise. She loves you, you know? She really loves you," Sebastian replied sadly. The boy gave an exaggerated nod. He went quiet in his arms.

"He doesn't talk much. He's still young though. He's a good kid, messere," the young woman said. Percival yawned and fell asleep on the prince's shoulder. He gave the boy a kiss on his head and returned him to his caretaker.

"Thank you… Thank you so much for being there for him. You have no idea how much it means to me."

"I can't imagine what it feels like, to have a child taken at so young. Most mages are six or so when taken to the Circle… not little babies like him. I assure you, I will take great care of him," she said. With that, Sebastian watched as she walked back towards the Circle, Percy's little head bobbing on her shoulder. He wiped away the tears still on his cheek. Anders gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder before they made their way back to Lowtown. In the Hanged Man they found Hawke at least a little bit sober but no less sad than before. They made their way to Hightown together and parted ways with Anders at the basement door where he snuck off to his clinic. During the night, Sebastian held her close as she peacefully slept in her alcohol haze.

"He was beautiful. You should have seen him. The perfect mixture of you and me. I wonder who he'll look like when he grows up? I wonder if… one day we can take him back? I would like that. He would be happy here. I think you would like that too," he whispered into her deaf ears. She sighed in her sleep and he took it as the cue to go to sleep himself.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: A chapter in which some secrets are revealed, and hopefully this story's plot doesn't look so stupid anymore. I also noticed that I subconsciously made Hawke's way of dealing with depression the same as mine, minus the drinking and the killing herself. Mostly the erratic displays of emotionless stares and nonchalant happiness.

* * *

><p>Chapter 7<p>

Life was slower now that the Qunari threat was over. The mage-templar feud had yet to catch fire as the two stubborn leaders would seclude themselves in their own business. Though Hawke was now the esteemed 'Champion of Kirkwall', people became hesitant to ask for her help. Even people who simply needed a crate lifted refused to have her help, saying she was too noble to aid such commoners. Nowadays they spent time walking through the city, collecting herbs in the mountains, and drinking at the Hanged Man.

Today was the day when they shared stories with each other; whether they were life stories or legends from homelands. This time it was Hawke's turn and Varric made sure to grab some paper and pens. Everyone was present; no one ever missed story nights if they could help it. All of them sat around the table, pouring themselves ale or the expensive stock that the dwarf and Hawke had stashed away. Hawke took the seat of honor at the head of the table.

"So Champion, I think this time you should… explain yourself," Varric said, giving her a sly grin. Words of agreement followed, everyone was looking at her. She sighed and moved a piece of hair. After taking a sip of her Orlesian wine, she cleared her throat.

"By 'explain yourself' I'm sure you mean 'life story'. The biography of the Champion of Kirkwall would sell for some pretty nice gold, wouldn't it?" She gave Tethras a calculated glare before she laughed. All ears were on her. She could practically feel their attention on her skin.

_Well, I grew up in Lothering with my family: mother, father, Carver, and Bethany. Mother was part of the Amells but she fell in love with my father, a mage, and so she ran off to Fereldan with him. I was their first and eldest child, and born a mage like father. Contrary to popular belief, I was not really born mute; I just hardly ever talked. There were no children my age in Lothering, and by the time I had to start hiding my magic, I learned to not trust anyone with my words. _

_As Carver and Bethany grew older, it fell on me to do the family work. Father had died within a year of the twins being born and mother was absolutely devastated. We owned a simple farm, enough to feed ourselves and also pay for the cost to keep it up. I taught Bethany how to be a mage while also making Carver into a strong boy. I remember how he would try to lift the heavy bags of seed, saying 'I will be just as strong as you!' and then he would fall over from exhaustion. Carver wasn't blessed with magic and so was determined to becoming a warrior. He would rattle on about how magic was useless if you weren't strong. I would laugh and pretend I was insulted. Bethany would always complain about his attitude, but she would agree that I was the perfect mage. Carver would get so jealous that he'd storm off into the night and not come back until he was cooled down. It usually took a while. _

_What Carver didn't know was that father was what he called an 'arcane warrior'. He knew how to wield a blade as well as cast a good lightning spell. The armor I now wear was even his, though in his time it was white like snow. He taught me how to wield a blade, but was unable to finish my training before he died. When Carver trained to become a warrior, I both instructed him and learned with him. I was always at a slight disadvantage; I was not only a woman but also a mage. It didn't bother me much and it gave him a bit of pride, so I was happy. _

_Everyone knows the story of how I kept the Templars in Lothering at bay; there's no need to repeat it. That is when I became mute. I was sure at first it was shock, but I know it was magic. There was one templar who was obsessed with the effects of lyrium. One day he told me he would pardon my family for three months if I let him experiment on me. At the time it seemed perfectly acceptable; three months was a long time to not worry about templars. What I didn't know was that he intended to see how much lyrium I could handle drinking. I am unsure of what happened because of it; I blacked out after 10 bottles and when I awoke I could not speak. I did know that my magic had felt… boosted and also noticed that the templar was gone. I tried to ask where he went, but no one could understand my gestures. _

_Bethany became distant, she was a bit disgusted with what I had done. She had no capacity to understand me either, just like I had no capacity to learn how to read or write. When I was a small child, I remember looking in my father's journal. One time he walked up behind me, snatched it up, and was about to scold me, but he noticed that the page was blank. He asked me why I was reading a blank page and all I could say was that it was not blank. Father became startled and never asked again. I don't remember if I said anything more or even what I was reading, but he made me promise never to read his journal again. It was strange though, because when she showed me the words he had written, I could see only nothing. _

_Carver became my interpreter and my confidant. We were more than siblings; we were master and student, king and advisor, a mage and a warrior. When he went to join the army, I insisted I go with him. He convinced me that mother needed me more and reminded me that my best use was magic and therefore it would be risky. I wrote him every day to make sure he was safe. _

_We already know the story of the Blight and how my family came to Kirkwall. We were refugees like anyone else. What I didn't know was that my cousin was the Hero of Fereldan. I have not talked to him in ages, but I am still proud to know that a mage can become a great thing. _

"Wait, _the _Gottfried Amell was your cousin?" Anders asked in shock. She stared at him wide-eyed and nodded. "I met him in Vigil's Keep. That's where I met Justice. Gottfried freed him from the Fade. Sometimes I wish he hadn't… Justice was sort of… fond of him. It was a little unsettling."

"So this arcane warrior business," Varric interrupted, "is that why you busted into my room, all fire and demons, wielding that big sword and wearing that god awful armor?"

"Well, yeah. I had saved it when we left Lothering. Why are you so interested?" she asked, taking more sips from her wine glass. Varric scribbled something down before he looked at her firmly.

"Mages aren't supposed to go around spilling guts with blades and taking sword blows to the chest. Mages are… frail and just want to blow stuff up. No offense."

"None taken. I supposed it was a little surprising."

"Are you ever going to do magic again?" Merrill asked from down the table. Everyone gave her sidelong glances. It took the innocent to ask such a loaded question. Sebastian hid his face in his cup, pretending to take a drink.

"It is silly to say that now I feel cursed by magic. However, it just… doesn't come to me anymore. I don't feel the Fade any longer, but I'm not Tranquil either. Maker knows what did it. I don't know if it slipped away or if it really did disappear when Percy was born. If it comes back to me, maybe I will. Right now, I want to stay away from it. Besides, it's nice stabbing things every once in a while," she said, scratching her face as she thought. The scabs had healed and there was barely a blemish, but she could still be seen picking at the wounds that were no longer there.

They fell into a reserved silence. It was not filled with tension so much as they had nothing to say. Varric was still writing when he finally spoke up once more.

"By the way, what was on the papers you read in my bedroom? The blank ones."

"That was a long time ago. Something about… a great conflict, between two old enemies. The city was flooded in blood. One of them was desperate, the other crazy. But the city was saved by one person. That person became king and rebuilt the city with their bare hands. The city was then known as a haven for the oppressed," she continued thinking for a few moments, her face contorted in recollection. "That's all I can really remember."

"That's interesting…" Varric jotted it down. "The actual story was about you."

Stares were shared. After a few seconds, Hawke laughed. She downed her wine before leaning towards him. "Varric, if I could rebuild this city, I wouldn't bother. Just build a new one! I'd probably leave the Hanged Man though. No use fixing what works."

"You always did like destruction and shiny stuff," came a voice from the doorway. There he stood in his nicer clothes; Carver. Hawke jumped up and rushed into his arms. They shared a long embrace.

"Oh, Carver! Why didn't you tell me you were coming? I would've brought your favorite food," she said, face buried in his shoulder. He laughed and gave her a reassuring slap on the back.

"I wanted to surprise you. That was a nice story I heard. Are you sure it's true?" She gave him a sharp jab in the ribs. Everyone laughed and invited Carver to the table. He sat down with Hawke and shared Varric's brandy.

"So Lil' Hawke, how is Fereldan this time of year?" Varric asked, a grin on his face.

"As dismal as ever, but the darkspawn are definitely gone. I'll have you know, sis, that those bastards tried real hard to knock our old house down but it just wouldn't budge. I had to add a room though, Mary's parents moved in and Caroline wanted a big room to herself. The girl is spoiled rotten, I swear," he said with a broad smile on his face. Caroline was his four year old daughter. She had her mother's bouncy blonde curls and Carver's bright blue eyes. She was the center of everyone's attention.

"She's lucky she has you as a dad. No big bad scary things to come get her," Aveline said, shoving him lightly with her foot under the table. She hardly ever joked but she always found something to say about Carver. She always recalled when she found his application to be a guardsman and had made sure that the captain denied it. He was so angry that he didn't talk to her for weeks. Now they were like friends or even siblings.

"Why are you here?" Hawke asked. The brother gave a small chuckle. He explained it was just a small visit; his greater intention was to procure some family documents to present to Fereldan's records. The night was spent in revelry and it was well into the midnight hours before they retired.

* * *

><p>It was 3 long years of peace and quiet before anything interesting happened. Meredith had cemented her hold on all of Kirkwall's affairs while also treating the mages like mad criminals. Hawke tried to stay out of it, not wanting any extra attention as Champion of Kirkwall, but many times was the family card played to gain her favor.<p>

One day while she was tending to some business affairs, a wiry messenger showed up at her doorstep. She recognized him as the young man who usually sent her letters from Orsino. Though she greeted him with a smile the boy seemed very nervous. The note he carried was not the common long note but a short piece of paper. He handed it towards her and she could have sworn he muttered a 'I'm sorry, messere.'

'Hawke,

I require your presence, along with his Highness Vael, in my office today immediately.

O'

She knitted her eyebrows in confusion and looked up to ask the messenger a question, but he was gone. Sighing she returned to the house and pieced together her armor onto her body. She sent Bodahn to find Sebastian and headed to the Gallows by herself. Waiting for him in the boat left her with time to think about things unsaid. She dipped her fingers in the still water, swirling it around absent mindedly until she realized it was probably infested with some unpleasant thing. Her head turned at the sound of footsteps, a smile broke across her face, and they sailed to the other side of the river.

When they got there, the First Enchanter was pacing the floor, a look of distress plastered on his visage. He looked at them and seemed to deflate. Hawke gave him a weak sympathetic smile as she watched him walk behind his desk and sit in his chair.

"It is about your son."

* * *

><p>AN: Really short chapter, but I like where it stops and I wanted to put this up. :3


	8. Chapter 8

Kinda short today, but I really like the cliffhanger this time. Sorry if anyone doesn't really like the time skipping, but I really couldn't think of anything interesting to put in there.

Chapter 8

Hawke went blank faced as Orsino explained the situation. Sebastian was clutching her gloved hand in terror.

_A young girl Percival played with had been harassed by a templar, nothing serious, he was just chastising her for fraternizing with him. Eventually it got out of hand and the argument had become about how she was worthless as a mage, an evil that deserved to be locked up, et cetera. Your son took it upon himself to step in. The good news is that no one died. The bad news is that he took it upon himself to punish the templar. He said it was proper repentance for him to be locked in a mind prison. I pleaded with Meredith to let him go. Thankfully she will let him live, but on the condition that he take his Harrowing. _

"It is today," he continued, his face grave. He looked up at them sympathetically. "She granted permission for you to be there when it happens."

"Take me to him," Lucy said firmly, her eyes full of sadness but her face no less serious. She could feel the prince beside her making his grip firmer. He didn't say a word.

"Of course. I'm sure you're familiar with Harrowings, Champion?" She nodded. He got up from his chair, opened the door, and the three walked down the hall. In front of a door sat a small boy, his hands shackled together, his feet tied to the chair. Despite his situation, he did not seem so much sad as he was patiently waiting. At the sound of footsteps he looked up, blue eyes flickering in the sunlight breaking through a window high in the wall. She rushed to him, wrapped arms around his shoulders, and hid her face in his shoulder. "Percival, I'm—"

"It's nice to see you, mother," he said without prompting. He looked up at Sebastian. "It's nice to see you again, father."

"How do you know who we are?" the rogue asked in surprise. He took a step closer. The First Enchanter was giving them a little space. "I haven't seen you since you were only a year old."

"One of the older children pointed you out. They were crying 'Look, it's the Champion! My, it must be great to be her' and I heard the First talk about you to the Commander," he said placidly. Percy's eyes closed in thought. "He too described you to me, in dreams."

Hawke continued to sob until Orsino approached once again with Meredith. "We must begin the Harrowing, Champion," the woman said coldly. Regretfully she let go, tears streaming down her face. They released her son from his bindings and lead him into the room beyond the door. The mage-turned-warrior and the prince clasped hands and followed suit.

Inside was the pedestal meant for the magic ritual and around the perimeter of a magic circle were three templars. They nodded their head to the Champion as she came in, but she did not return the favor. No one really blamed her; the stories of the brave woman's early years had become the favorite whispers in the barracks since her ascension to the noble title. She was blank, squeezing Sebastian's hand until he pleaded that she ease her grip, as they rattled off the rules of the Harrowing. With weeping eyes she watched as he touched the pedestal, and everything became still as they monitored his unmoving body.

_Hello again. I suppose this is where you either sink or swim, Percival. _

"Justice, you act as if you don't believe in me," the boy said as he gained his bearings in the slightly familiar Fade. Everything was fuzzy and slightly askew, like someone had shaken the world and left all of its features jumbled up like some puzzle. He got to his feet and looked around for any clue as to where he should go. The spirit pointed down a path. The young boy knew him well enough to trust his intentions. They walked down a winding path lined with gnarled trees and the wisps of restless dead.

_Nothing is certain in the Fade, especially when there are demons to be expected. I suspect that the one you will face will be particularly powerful. I wish you luck. _

The spirit disappeared, though he could still feel the lingering of his presence. Justice was a part of his life as much as himself; they were almost like twins because of their intertwined thoughts. Where Anders had struggled with the spirit to keep his human emotions and values, Percival grew around them. His guardian could not see in every recess of his mind, he was sure of it. Because of his teaching, Percy became sharp for his age, though not inhumanly so. What he knew best was to hide his real beliefs so he would not have to fight over them with his protector and the other children. The other boys called him a coward, Justice called him indecisive. He lived constantly trying to make fleeting dreams into realities.

As he walked down the bramble-lined pathways of the Fade, he considered his latest dream. He wouldn't know if they were strange by most standards, but he figured Justice had something to do with their nature. If they were not filled with the injustices of the world, he was given a reprieve and the spirit would retreat, allowing him some form of comfort in his human mind. If they were pleasant, they were flashes of long blonde hair or hands confined in leather gloves. When he had nightmares, he could only watch as blood, or what he thought was blood, slowly slid across slate flooring towards him. The last time he had a nightmare, he was woken up right before a demon swallowed him whole. He had nearly knocked his friend out cold while the other child tried to calm him down. The whole room was awake and staring at him as he sat there sweating and panicked.

His last dream had been a pleasant one and he was thankful for that; if he died today, at least part of that dream had come true. The delicate curve of his mother's face had turned out to be one that had wisdom wrinkles between her eyebrows, her lustrous hair was duller, and her skin was a little rough, but he did not care. She did not say the same words he had dreamed her say, and her voice had been a bit hoarser than expected, but he accepted her just as well. It was his mother, after all. His father was just as he 'remembered' him. He could not personally recall the man's visage from five years ago, but Justice had seen to it that the image was burnt into his subconscious.

Someone's voice caught his attention. He looked up, half-expecting it to be his friend or maybe Justice. But it was neither. What looked to be his mother stood before him. She smiled sweetly and held out her arms, beckoning him to rush into her arms. Percival moved one foot forward before he quickly pulled it back. His eyes narrowed as he contemplated which meager spell he could use in this situation.

_Oh my sweet boy, do you not want me to hold you? You'll make your mother sad if you run away. _

"Sorry, I saw my mother already, and you are not her," he said firmly. He pulled his other foot back as well.

_How do you know I am not her? Don't I look like your mother?_

"Close, but I am not that blind."

_Foolish boy! Isn't what you longed for all of these years a family? Your darling mother and protective father? I could give you that, boy, if you just let me in. _

"I would if I could, but if I defeat you, I can see my real mother and father. I can see a mother who doesn't need magic to make me happy." He decided on a spell as the words left his mouth. The demon's head bursted into flames. She flailed around a bit as he thought of something else. Her curses were drowned out as he heard someone utter a vocal spell and watched as the demon was skewered by a magical sword. He turned around to see who had dealt the final blow, but all he saw was a vanishing cloud of blue magical residue.

_I have never witnessed such a phenomenon. _He looked at the ghostly figure of Justice as he whisked the residue with his armored hand. It separated into a thin vapor and then dissipated. Before Percival could ask what he had meant, he felt himself being tugged by an invisible force back to the realm of flesh and reality.

"Lucienda… wrong? … Unconscious… flash of blue… sword? … Magic. I think she's waking up," he could hear a confused masculine voice say in the background, flitting in and out due to throbbing in his head. He was not given a chance to recover because a set of well-built arms pulled him up and dragged him across the ground. On his way past, he saw Sebastian fanning his mother's pale face with a piece of parchment. Percival promptly passed out himself as he was not-so-gently led to his own rooms.

_Fancy meeting you here. _

"Who—Mother?" Percival asked, trying to see through blue tendrils of smoke and the haze covering his vision. The only thing he had to go on was the sound of the woman's voice. He faintly saw her lift a hand and wave it passively. She did not seem very threatening. There was something oddly familiar and serene about her, despite the fact that she was currently caught on fire. The fire was however blue and seemed to pose no threat. It was currently ravaging a bush, but either ravaging it very slowly or very lovingly, because the bush looked to be growing where the flames licked it.

_I suppose. I have met you before. You seem to me like the child I held. Tell me, do you regret being made? Do you regret this world you have created?_

"Though I don't particularly believe in him, didn't the Maker make the world? What are you talking about? Where the hell am I?" He mentally slapped himself for cursing, even though it was such a light word. That was when he looked down at his feet. They seemed very far away from him now. Then he looked at his hands. They looked bigger, but not any more threatening. He looked back up at the spirit—or whatever she was. He at least assumed it was a she.

_Everyone is a Maker. Everyone makes their own world. Do you regret yours? The one with the Muted Hero, the Exiled Prince, the Caged Son, the Corrupted Spirit, the Blind Knight? Do you not regret the role you have played in your world?_

"I don't understand. What are you talking about? Who even are you?" He got to his feet and took a step forward. She did not seem any more afraid than someone would be of a plant sitting in its pot.

_Who I am is unimportant, but if you must know, I am the Headless Bride. What I speak of is your reality. What I say is only the truth of what you have created. _

"Headless Bride? That is a bit off-putting. And I haven't created anything. I'm supposed to be a little kid, why am I like this?" He approached her and attempted to grasp her form. His hands passed through her. Head filled with pain; he cried out and clutched it. Suddenly, he knew everything she was talking about. He felt tears falling down his cheeks. They were hot, like fire. They burned his skin.

_Now can you tell me whether you regret? You muted the Hero, exiled the Prince, corrupted the Spirit, and you caged the Son. Do you take back caging yourself in this web of lies? Do you not want a life where you may be happy? Do you even desire your life at all, Son? As a Maker, do you wish to unmake this world and throw it into the abyss of the universe? I will give you time to decide it. You have until the Knight blinds you with her light, when the Hero mutes your ears, while the Prince exiles your voice. You have three years of your life to decide; was this what you wrote into the Deceived Bard's story books or on the Muted Hero's journal? Were your cries for help heard?_

She faded away like the blue mist from before. He fell to the ground and could only stare at the black sky as he was faintly reminded that this was not the him that existed. He woke up briefly on the other side, felt himself being carelessly dropped on something that did not give way to his slight weight and heard the door being shut and locked behind whoever had left. His weary eyes confirmed that it was a room meant only for one. If they decided to kill him, they had at least allowed him a bit of comfort before they did so. He faintly heard someone say, "I guess she isn't the Champion for nothing."


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: I am actually only half aware of what is going on anymore. I might be crazy. I was trying to write a Chapter 6.5 to make up for the time-skip, but I think I'll put it in here instead, as some form of flash back maybe.

Chapter 9

Sebastian was not as alarmed as he wanted to be. He watched his only son wander into an unknown that could kill him, looked on as they dragged him away to Maker-knows-where when he awoke, and was now cradling his love's body as it seized in his arms. Needless to say, the prince had no idea what he was doing. Tuned ears listened to background conversations; Orsino was calling for a healer mage, Meredith was raging about how this was what kindness did to mages, and a templar had one hand on his shoulder, the other on the Champion's twitching legs, and was telling him not to worry. Sebastian wasn't worried so much as he was confused.

A healer came, but by then she had stopped moving so erratically. She whispered cries for her father and clutched Sebastian's shirt. Orsino offered to let her rest in one of the spare beds in the Gallows. Meredith commented on how the idea should become permanent. He didn't walk with the man carrying Hawke, finding himself glued where he stood. The First Enchanter gave him a sympathetic smile before following the ailing woman. The Knight-Commander came up beside him and watched in equal emptiness.

"I don't care if she's the Champion or how much money she has; she should be killed for what she has done today," she stoically said. Sebastian didn't give any sort of reaction. The woman left him alone with his thoughts and the pool of blood he had decided to stare at.

"Does she?" he asked of the air. The air did not reply.

* * *

><p>Percival sat up quickly. Immediately he regretted it, as a sharp pain spread through his body and head. His head he understood; he was accustomed to the pain restless sleep caused it. What piqued his interest was the fact that he had a bandage wrapped around his middle. He prodded it with a finger, causing it to hurt a bit more, but did not show any signs of it being dirty. Curious, he began to unwrap it.<p>

_I advise you to stop that immediately. _

"I don't care, I want to see." It was difficult getting them off when they went behind his back. He cringed more every time.

_You do not need to see. I order you to stop. _

"You can't or—What is this?" He stared at the fresh scar splitting the two halves of his stomach. It was a perfect line, the size of a greatsword.

_You do not need to know. I suggest you replace those bandages. Someone is coming. _

"No. What is this?"

_They passed by. I still suggest you replace them, in case someone does indeed come. _

"Not until you answer me."

He could hear Justice sigh. _Your mother did it. Now replace them._

"Why would mother do this to me?"

_I am not certain. Are you going to do as I say now?_

Percival reluctantly covered the mark back up with the bandages. Hesitantly he sat up and then, once he was sure of himself, he stood up. This place was his room now, a privilege known to only those who had passed the Harrowing. On his dresser was a new set of robes, identifying him as a real mage. His original chest of belongings sat next to it, ready to be emptied and its contents put in their places. He left it to do later. The new clothes were a little loose, but he did not mind. There was a key on his nightstand which he supposed was his personal key to the room. He placed it in a small pocket in the robes and left the room.

Looking down the hallway, he saw a group of templars standing guard in front of a door. The door was closed, but a voice could still be heard. It was Meredith's voice, with Orsino's chiming in whenever possible. The boy walked towards it, but a firm hand caught his shoulder, keeping him still.

"You cannot go that way," the templar said, his face looming down at him from his height. Percy's blue eyes stared up at him with an emotion akin to fear. The man smiled gently. "You should go eat breakfast with the other children. I'm sure your sense of time is messed up; it's morning."

He nodded in understanding, gave the other room a passing look, and walked in the direction of the communal dining room. The man stood in front of his room and only followed him with his eyes.

* * *

><p>"I do not care who she is, why she did it, or even if you don't believe it was blood magic, but what I saw was against the Chantry law and I demand she be executed for her crime!" Meredith yelled into the older elf's face. He stood firm, his face unmoved by intimidation. On the bed the Champion attempted to sit up, but she was restrained by shackles. She sighed loudly but it went unnoticed.<p>

"It was not blood magic! You were determined to kill that boy, if anyone should have ended his life before being possessed, shouldn't it have been his own mother to do it? Isn't that why you let her be there?" Orsino retorted, his features reddening with rage. The Knight-Commander took a step forward, pushing him against the wall.

"First Enchanter, then please explain to me why the boy was neither possessed nor died when she did it? Maybe it is she who is possessed instead and using those new powers spared his life. Either way I see it, one of them is the blood mage and if you cannot prove otherwise I will have them both executed!" She rounded on Sebastian who had been sitting at Lucienda's side. "And I will have him killed as well for conspiring with a blood mage!"

Orsino began to counter her attacks, but the Champion's voice rang out above them. "I was not aware killing demons before they possessed little children was against Chantry law. I should have been hanged a long time ago then."

"Champion, you cannot convince me that you had slain a demon that was still residing in the Fade by piercing the body it intended to possess. That is complete bullshit." Hawke motioned to one of the templars to lift her tunic. His hands were tentative but she assured him it was fine. When the clothing was secured beneath her chest, she watched as both the Commander and Enchanter peered at the elongated scar splitting her in half. Unlike her son's it was jagged and more faded.

"You would know more about the power of blood if you allowed mages to have children, wouldn't you?" she said in a chiding tone.

"Explain yourself, Champion," Meredith said coldly. It was an order filled with curiosity. The gleam in her eye gave her away. Hawke smirked.

"I am not about to give away family secrets."

"You will explain or I will have you beheaded right here and now, blood mage!" the Knight-Commander removed her sword from its holster and placed its tip at her throat. Sebastian sat up quickly and gripped the sword in his hand, blood oozing out where it cut into his gloved palm.

"There is no need for this, Commander!" Orsino insisted, stepping between the woman and the prince. Meredith was reluctant to pull back her blade, but she did it anyways.

"You are lucky, Champion. I will be watching you carefully." All that was left of her was the fluttering of the cape that followed her always. Orsino sighed and gave Lucienda a weary glance. Her only response was a smirk. While the enchanter healed Vael's bloodied hands, he spoke softly so not to be overheard.

"You should remove yourself from our affairs before it really does end in your death, Champion."

* * *

><p>Varric had to admit that Hawke became quite boring once the Qunari were gone. The title of Champion did not make her any more ambitious. In fact, it kept people so afraid of her that there was hardly any need to call upon her. He gave her the credit of at least looking for a fight; she often invited him to scour Kirkwall for shady work, saying it was the best kind. Frequently she took walks on the Wounded Coast and Sundermount. She would come back with not bloodstains or scrapes, but just a bag filled with things she had found along the way.<p>

Lucy had become something of a collector and experimenter. The magic was gone but she still mixed lyrium into various objects to see their effect. Though she owned half of the Bone Pit, she had set up something of a shop. Every seven days she packed up the things she would sell and picked a random spot in the city to stay for the day. With all of her resources, she had an overstock of healing items and fairly good armaments. It was no surprise that people flocked to her; she was the Champion of Kirkwall, after all. Most people would ask why she was bothering to do a merchant's job as they handed her silver in exchange for some pretty object that she had found and fixed up. She said that if Kirkwall didn't need her as a protector, it could use her as its lifeblood. News of her work spread like a disease in Darktown as nobles and paupers alike whispered in ears.

One day a templar walked up to her while she was sitting on the Docks. She could often be found there because it was where the merchant ships washed in and would see her crates and crates of valuable items she most likely pilfered from dead bodies when she had a chance. The templar, a young man no older than twenty, picked through her bottles of magical potions. When he couldn't find what he wanted, he looked up at her. "Do you have lyrium?"

She scratched her head in thought; people didn't usually ask for lyrium so she did not bring it any more. Remembering a case was sitting in her basement, she almost told him that she indeed had some, but then a realization had hit her. Templars were addicted to lyrium, the poor boy was probably too since he was asking a merchant for the substance. As part of her experiments, she had found something of a cure for lyrium addiction. On her travels in Darktown she had found another templar, much older than this boy, trying to find a lyrium smuggler. At the time she was carrying the potions, having just left Anders' clinic to discuss its possible effects. They looked just like lyrium and so the man snatched one up and downed it. She watched as he screeched in agony, vomited the blue liquid and was then brought to his senses. He asked why he was holding the bottle and she had told him the truth; that he had been addicted to lyrium and thought she had been carrying it. The man balked at the thought of taking lyrium and quickly went back to the Gallows in distress.

"I do not keep it in stock here, you would understand why. Come back to my estate this evening and I will find some for you," she said in her most pleasant voice, giving him a slight wink. He nodded nervously and walked away. Hawke sighed in relief. By the time it was dark she had sold most of her things, which wasn't always the case. Carrying the little she had left, she made her way home. Standing in front of her estate door was the young man, kicking at the loose stones in the road. Carefully she led him inside.

"Darling, how was—who is this?" Sebastian asked from where he sat at her writing desk. She waved her hand and continued on her way to the basement. The boy gave a small nod to the rogue before following. Inside she placed her wares on the nearby table and began to rummage between casks of wine. Hawke had specifically labeled the lyrium and its addiction fighter by placing different colored corks in the tops. It was easy to notice the red stopper and she handed one potion to her customer. He looked at her as if she were crazy.

"You only need one, I assure you," she said simply. He started to pick through his armor for his money pouch. "No need to pay me."

The boy thanked her, turned around, and downed the whole flask. It took him a little longer to dirty her basement floor than the man in Darktown. He apologized more than necessary, saying it was her pleasure to give it to him. She handed him a cloth to wipe his face and the bit that got on his boots. With a smile she showed him to the door and watched as he quickly walked away.

"What was that about?" her love asked when she re-entered.

"Just helping a poor boy."

"Why do you insist on helping templars after all they have done?" He got to his feet abruptly and approached her. She smiled as if he had told her he loved her.

"If I must thank that damned spirit for anything, it was that he helped me forgive. Just like mages, templars are not all the same. That boy did not hurt me and no one deserves to suffer like that. He was old enough to be my brother." With that being said, she walked back to the basement to clear up and organize her things. Sebastian sighed and went back to writing letters and counting money.

* * *

><p>Anders looked out the slot of his door and saw the group of templars. It was as if they were looking but not for anything in particular. They knocked on his door but he did not answer, hoping they would go away. After a few minutes they did and he watched as they turned the corner. In a frenzy he grabbed his key to Hawke's basement and made for the door. Once he opened it he came face to face with a burly man in templar armor. He looked just a little be deranged. He would have shrieked in terror if his windpipe was not currently being crushed by the man's hands.<p>

"Where is the champion?" the man asked in a loud booming voice. Anders did not have a chance at answering before blacking out.

When he awoke he was staring into her face. There was a red smudge on her cheek and she was holding a cloth to her eye. She gave him a smile before giving him space to sit up. It would have been funnier that she sat down on the previous strong man if the mage didn't feel like he had been crushed into the ground. The man gave a muffled sound of pain before going silent. Hawke removed the cloth to reveal that her eye had once been bleeding but was now just bruised.

"What happened?" was all he could say. She laughed.

"I showed up through the basement door, saw him standing over your body and knocked him out. Pretty simple," she replied. He nodded.

"Did you catch what he wanted?"

"Something about… lyrium I think."

"Do you think there are some nasty rumors going around that you're a lyrium smuggler?" Anders asked, his face full of concern.

"I think stories about my lyrium kicker have been making rounds. The question is; do they think it's lyrium or do they know what it does? Either way, let them have it," she explained matter-of-factly. He looked about to blow up before the captive templar grunting in his new found consciousness.

"Where the bloody hell am I?"

"Lyrium?"

"Give me that damned lyrium!" he shouted. Hawke shoved a red-capped bottle into his hands. He guzzled it like a man walking through the desert. She got up before she could be soiled. A few minutes later she was waving as the man walked away.

"Someone gets hurt every time you help, huh?" Anders asked her. He got a heavy pat on the back before she made her way home.

* * *

><p>In the hallway they met gazes, blue eyes locked on each other like two duelists trying to intimidate the other. The templars behind them kept their feet moving, not even allowing the three family members to exchange words. Sebastian looked infinitely relieved while his wife remained stone-faced. Before the door to the courtyard closed, she looked back and they simply nodded to each other. Outside the sun was high in the sky, baking the poor people who could not have the shade of the Gallows.<p>

Innocently his hands slipped into hers, they smiled sadly, and walked towards the water's edge. From a high tower they were watched by a blonde templar and a grey enchanter. A boy could barely make out their boat from between a sea of eager children. They were met by a tired mage and a grimacing dwarf. The night ended in glasses of wine and a warm fire.

In the middle of their slumber, Sebastian prodded the still-awake woman next to him. She hummed in response and shifted her body to stare into his face through the darkness. He looked troubled.

"Am I allowed to know this family secret?"


End file.
